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The Ground Beneath Her Feet
Salman Rushdie's most ambitious and accomplished novel, sure to be hailed as his masterpiece.
At the beginning of this stunning novel, Vina Apsara, a famous and much-loved singer, is caught up in a devastating earthquake and never seen again by human eyes. This is her story, and that of Ormus Cama, the lover who finds, loses, seeks, and again finds her, over and over, throughout his own extraordinary life in music. Their epic romance is narrated by Ormus's childhood friend and Vina's sometime lover, her "back-door man," the photographer Rai, whose astonishing voice, filled with stories, images, myths, anger, wisdom, humor, and love, is perhaps the book's true hero. Telling the story of Ormus and Vina, he finds that he is also revealing his own truths: his human failings, his immortal longings. He is a man caught up in the loves and quarrels of the age's goddesses and gods, but dares to have ambitions of his own. And lives to tell the tale.
Around these three, the uncertain world itself is beginning to tremble and break. Cracks and tears have begun to appear in the fabric of the real. There are glimpses of abysses below the surfaces of things. The Ground Beneath Her Feet is Salman Rushdie's most gripping novel and his boldest imaginative act, a vision of our shaken, mutating times, an engagement with the whole of what is and what might be, an account of the intimate, flawed encounter between the East and the West, a brilliant remaking of the myth of Orpheus, a novel of high (and low) comedy, high (and low) passions, high (and low) culture. It is a tale of love, death, and rock 'n' roll.
At the beginning of this stunning novel, Vina Apsara, a famous and much-loved singer, is caught up in a devastating earthquake and never seen again by human eyes. This is her story, and that of Ormus Cama, the lover who finds, loses, seeks, and again finds her, over and over, throughout his own extraordinary life in music. Their epic romance is narrated by Ormus's childhood friend and Vina's sometime lover, her "back-door man," the photographer Rai, whose astonishing voice, filled with stories, images, myths, anger, wisdom, humor, and love, is perhaps the book's true hero. Telling the story of Ormus and Vina, he finds that he is also revealing his own truths: his human failings, his immortal longings. He is a man caught up in the loves and quarrels of the age's goddesses and gods, but dares to have ambitions of his own. And lives to tell the tale.
Around these three, the uncertain world itself is beginning to tremble and break. Cracks and tears have begun to appear in the fabric of the real. There are glimpses of abysses below the surfaces of things. The Ground Beneath Her Feet is Salman Rushdie's most gripping novel and his boldest imaginative act, a vision of our shaken, mutating times, an engagement with the whole of what is and what might be, an account of the intimate, flawed encounter between the East and the West, a brilliant remaking of the myth of Orpheus, a novel of high (and low) comedy, high (and low) passions, high (and low) culture. It is a tale of love, death, and rock 'n' roll.
576 pages, Paperback
First published April 1, 1999
About the author
Salman Rushdie
141 books12.3k followers
The Satanic Verses
(1988), novel of Indian-born British writer Salman Rushdie led Ruholla Khomeini, the ayatollah of Iran, to demand his execution and then forced him into hiding; his other works include
Midnight's Children
(1981), which won the Booker prize, and
The Moor's Last Sigh
(1995).
Sir Ahmed Salman Rushdie, a novelist and essayist, set much of his early fiction at least partly on the Indian subcontinent. His style is often classified as magical realism, while a dominant theme of his work is the story of the many connections, disruptions and migrations between the Eastern and Western world.
His fourth novel led to some violent protests from Muslims in several countries. Faced with death threats and a fatwa (religious edict) issued by Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini, then Supreme Leader of Iran, which called for him to be killed, he spent nearly a decade largely underground, appearing in public only sporadically. In June 2007, he was appointed a Knight Bachelor for "services to literature", which "thrilled and humbled" him. In 2007, he began a five-year term as Distinguished Writer in Residence at Emory University.
Sir Ahmed Salman Rushdie, a novelist and essayist, set much of his early fiction at least partly on the Indian subcontinent. His style is often classified as magical realism, while a dominant theme of his work is the story of the many connections, disruptions and migrations between the Eastern and Western world.
His fourth novel led to some violent protests from Muslims in several countries. Faced with death threats and a fatwa (religious edict) issued by Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini, then Supreme Leader of Iran, which called for him to be killed, he spent nearly a decade largely underground, appearing in public only sporadically. In June 2007, he was appointed a Knight Bachelor for "services to literature", which "thrilled and humbled" him. In 2007, he began a five-year term as Distinguished Writer in Residence at Emory University.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 730 reviews
September 3, 2023
That's a strange and overflowing novel that plunges us into the destiny of an imaginary rock group whose two leaders, united and torn by an incredible love story, will gradually change the face of the world.
The story is precious for the pinch of fantasy. The author has sprinkled it, the group's inspiration being in contact with a mysterious parallel dimension that gradually invades the story.
In the end, a book is worth the detour, especially for what we learn about India, but it is not always easy, especially in the last hundred pages, which drag on in length.
The story is precious for the pinch of fantasy. The author has sprinkled it, the group's inspiration being in contact with a mysterious parallel dimension that gradually invades the story.
In the end, a book is worth the detour, especially for what we learn about India, but it is not always easy, especially in the last hundred pages, which drag on in length.
December 19, 2016
4.5 stars
This was exceptionally well done. A+ for plan and execution Mr. Rushdie.
Reading Salman Rushdie makes me want to take an advanced mythology class. He really uses it well. According to Wiki, it is a variation on the Orpheus/Eurydice myth with rock music replacing Orpheus' lyre. The myth works as a red thread from which the author sometimes strays, but to which he attaches an endless series of references. I feel like I maybe got half the references. Thanks to my recent read of The Sandman series I was pretty familiar with the Orpheus/Eurydice myth.
I especially liked the way he used music and mashed up songs. This was my second novel by this author and I'm planning on my third next month. I hope at some point to reread this one because I think there is still lots left to explore.
This was exceptionally well done. A+ for plan and execution Mr. Rushdie.
Reading Salman Rushdie makes me want to take an advanced mythology class. He really uses it well. According to Wiki, it is a variation on the Orpheus/Eurydice myth with rock music replacing Orpheus' lyre. The myth works as a red thread from which the author sometimes strays, but to which he attaches an endless series of references. I feel like I maybe got half the references. Thanks to my recent read of The Sandman series I was pretty familiar with the Orpheus/Eurydice myth.
I especially liked the way he used music and mashed up songs. This was my second novel by this author and I'm planning on my third next month. I hope at some point to reread this one because I think there is still lots left to explore.
October 26, 2007
Knew it was my favorite book ever as soon as I read it. Read all the others I'd said that about again just to be sure. It was. Rushdie's polyglot wordplay and his gift for pun (Why is it that multi-lingual writers like Rushdie and Nabokov are the most exceptional punsters?) are irrepressible. It's a transcontinental, slightly-fantastical elseworld story in which making music seems the most important thing a person can do. Add to it all the burbling, effusive joy with which Rushdie handles language, and this book is pretty well hand-tailored for me. It's also the only place you'll ever find a shout out for the great poet John Shade.
August 5, 2011
I walked away from this book with many feelings, but, principal among them was boredom. I have seen a lot of people labelling Tolkein's work as self indulgent. Tolkein, my friends, was lyrical. His book had heart, soul. His characters were weighed down by destiny and the strength of their choices. Rushdie, in the other hand, is self indulgent.
I have read The Moor's Last Sigh, Shalimar the Clown, The Enchantress of Florence, The Satanic Verses and The Ground Beneath her Feet by Rushdie and this was the book that let me down. It had nothing of the erudite restraint of the Moor's Last Sigh, the magical realism and haunting mysticism of Shalimar the Clown, the quirky historical mystery of The Enchantress of Florence, or the delicious ambiguity of The Satanic Verses. The Ground Beneath her Feet is a rant, Rushdie's attempt at retelling a great love story. It has its moments, but, overall - it falls hard and fails to land on its feet.
The story revolves around the tumultous relationship between Ormus Cama and Vina Apsara, two musical prodigies whose lives are intertwined irreversibly. Shadowing them, sometimes friend and oftentimes jealous voyeur is Umeed Rai Merchant, photographer and a man hopelessly in love with Vina himself. He narrates the story and is Rushdie's manic voice transmitted onto the page.
The story is an attempt at reworking the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice in a more contemporary setting, Vina is damaged goods and Ormus is unloved by his parents and brought up in an India in the throes of post colonial reinvention. The first half of the book is the best and most moving part of this journey. Set entirely in a Bombay filled with Englishmen, Colonial sympathisers and anglicized Parsi Patriarchs Rushdie's magic is truly apparent as I was unable to stop reading the book for the first 300 odd pages. Rushdie seems comfortable writing about his country of birth and of the city he favours most - Bombay. The heartache seems to resonate from the pages as a vindication of the agony of his forced exile. This part also deals with a lot of amazing characters who you learn to love. And then - (if I may use the name of one of the chapters in the book) comes 'The Whole Catastrophe'
This book is too myriad and jumbled to give you a proper summary of the plot. Characters step in and out and there are the standard ridiculous coincidences and the heavy foreshadowing that Rushdie is famous for. However, as soon as the action steps over to England and America, he loses the reader. Perhaps he is not as comfortable writing about these places, perhaps he just doesn't have the knack of making these foregn climes as attractive as the coast of Maharashtra - for whatever the reason, once the action shifts, the book nosedives and never completely recovers.
And there was the science fiction. Rushdie seems to have added some of his musings from his most hallucinogen induced dreams. Sure, the entire subplot of the time-space continuum is a metaphor for the unstable times we live in where contradictions supplant our daily fare. Sure, Rushdie has a long history of superpower imbued and troubled heroes. Sure, it is even a little diverting, interesting to see how all this pans out. And then, in the end - Nothing. No cataclysm, no catastrophe, no proper tying up of the threads of that particular subplot. Just a wispy wraith on a chair giving an astral message and the plot is erased.
This book is unstable, forgetting important characters for a long period of time, giving space to characters who are moping and self indulgent (read Vina and Ormus). The lead pair was a tad annoying, and , considering they take up most of the space of the book, I was extremely ticked off for the major part.
And there is the question of love. Rushdie impresses upon the reader the importance of the 'Love' that Vina and Ormus shared. Call me old fashioned but there is no love without fidelity and Vina dabbles in infidelity so rampant it makes Madonna look like a nun. This entire concept of love being more than shared bodies might appeal to some but not to me. Love is fidelity. Period. Ormus Cama embodies this much more than Vina Apsara ever does in this book, all Vina seems to love is herself.
The ending is too contrived, and too forced to make an impression. It brought to mind the amazing ending scene in the World According to Garp by John Irving with none of the emotional whallop that moment packed. By the time you reach the last few 100 pages, the amazing and very real world of Post Colonial Bombay in the beginning of the book seems like a wonderful dream and the crazy pop culture inspired name dropping rant in the final pages, which seems to go nowhere, is just tedium.
Nuff said I suppose - Mr. Rushdie, if you want to impress us, it takes a lot more than just clever wordplay.
I have read The Moor's Last Sigh, Shalimar the Clown, The Enchantress of Florence, The Satanic Verses and The Ground Beneath her Feet by Rushdie and this was the book that let me down. It had nothing of the erudite restraint of the Moor's Last Sigh, the magical realism and haunting mysticism of Shalimar the Clown, the quirky historical mystery of The Enchantress of Florence, or the delicious ambiguity of The Satanic Verses. The Ground Beneath her Feet is a rant, Rushdie's attempt at retelling a great love story. It has its moments, but, overall - it falls hard and fails to land on its feet.
The story revolves around the tumultous relationship between Ormus Cama and Vina Apsara, two musical prodigies whose lives are intertwined irreversibly. Shadowing them, sometimes friend and oftentimes jealous voyeur is Umeed Rai Merchant, photographer and a man hopelessly in love with Vina himself. He narrates the story and is Rushdie's manic voice transmitted onto the page.
The story is an attempt at reworking the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice in a more contemporary setting, Vina is damaged goods and Ormus is unloved by his parents and brought up in an India in the throes of post colonial reinvention. The first half of the book is the best and most moving part of this journey. Set entirely in a Bombay filled with Englishmen, Colonial sympathisers and anglicized Parsi Patriarchs Rushdie's magic is truly apparent as I was unable to stop reading the book for the first 300 odd pages. Rushdie seems comfortable writing about his country of birth and of the city he favours most - Bombay. The heartache seems to resonate from the pages as a vindication of the agony of his forced exile. This part also deals with a lot of amazing characters who you learn to love. And then - (if I may use the name of one of the chapters in the book) comes 'The Whole Catastrophe'
This book is too myriad and jumbled to give you a proper summary of the plot. Characters step in and out and there are the standard ridiculous coincidences and the heavy foreshadowing that Rushdie is famous for. However, as soon as the action steps over to England and America, he loses the reader. Perhaps he is not as comfortable writing about these places, perhaps he just doesn't have the knack of making these foregn climes as attractive as the coast of Maharashtra - for whatever the reason, once the action shifts, the book nosedives and never completely recovers.
And there was the science fiction. Rushdie seems to have added some of his musings from his most hallucinogen induced dreams. Sure, the entire subplot of the time-space continuum is a metaphor for the unstable times we live in where contradictions supplant our daily fare. Sure, Rushdie has a long history of superpower imbued and troubled heroes. Sure, it is even a little diverting, interesting to see how all this pans out. And then, in the end - Nothing. No cataclysm, no catastrophe, no proper tying up of the threads of that particular subplot. Just a wispy wraith on a chair giving an astral message and the plot is erased.
This book is unstable, forgetting important characters for a long period of time, giving space to characters who are moping and self indulgent (read Vina and Ormus). The lead pair was a tad annoying, and , considering they take up most of the space of the book, I was extremely ticked off for the major part.
And there is the question of love. Rushdie impresses upon the reader the importance of the 'Love' that Vina and Ormus shared. Call me old fashioned but there is no love without fidelity and Vina dabbles in infidelity so rampant it makes Madonna look like a nun. This entire concept of love being more than shared bodies might appeal to some but not to me. Love is fidelity. Period. Ormus Cama embodies this much more than Vina Apsara ever does in this book, all Vina seems to love is herself.
The ending is too contrived, and too forced to make an impression. It brought to mind the amazing ending scene in the World According to Garp by John Irving with none of the emotional whallop that moment packed. By the time you reach the last few 100 pages, the amazing and very real world of Post Colonial Bombay in the beginning of the book seems like a wonderful dream and the crazy pop culture inspired name dropping rant in the final pages, which seems to go nowhere, is just tedium.
Nuff said I suppose - Mr. Rushdie, if you want to impress us, it takes a lot more than just clever wordplay.
September 23, 2024
Ezeknek az epikus nagyregényeknek az íróit hajlamos vagyok úgy elképzelni, mint virtuóz kutyasétáltatót, akit épp több tucat eb rángat pórázon, miközben megkísérli velük megkerülni a háztömböt. Ezek az ebek az alaptémák (szerelem, történelem, mitologikus áthallások, stb.) illetve a szereplők metaforái, és mondanom sem kell: mindegyik másfelé akarna menni. Az egyik meglátott egy macskát, a másik megjelölne egy út menti fát, a harmadik meg a negyedik pedig épp egymás popóját szagolgatja, ami azért baj, mert az a harmadik valószínűleg tüzel. Szóval ez a baromi sok kutya baromi sok széttartó ötletnek és szándéknak felel meg, amelyek igyekeznek százfelé szakítani az írót, ám az nem hagyja magát: szorosan tartja, épp csak annyira engedi szabadjára őket, amennyire muszáj, és ha törik, ha szakad, megkerüli velük azt a rohadt háztömböt. Ezt nevezzük regényírásnak.
Ami a kötetet illeti, a dolog többnyire jól működik. Rushdie ebei láthatóan nyugtalanok, de a gazda keze erősen tartja őket, így rakoncátlankodásuk izgalmas káoszt teremt, nem összeomlást. A szöveg Ormus és Vína, a két mesterzenész meséje (no és a szomorú harmadiké, Rái-é, aki ezt az egészet elmeséli), akik Bombay keleti forgatagából New York nyugati forgatagába kerülnek, miközben megmásszák a világhírnév szédítő ormait. Kelet-nyugat regény tehát - Rushdie-tól egyáltalán nem szokatlan módon –, amiből sok egyéb mellett az is kiderül, hogy amit a kelet vonzónak talál a nyugatban, és amit nyugat bölcsességnek lát keletben, az néha közelről nézve nem más, mint repedező fal és rothadó szemétszag.
De valahol a regény felét elhagyva az író marka lazul a pórázon, egyes ebek pedig elszabadulnak. Beszűkül a történet, gazdag meséből monológgá, időnként egyenesen lamentálássá válik. Mintha Rushdie-nak nem nagyon lett volna ötlete arra nézvést, mi legyen a történetből, amikor végre Vína és Ormus egymásra talál, a lendület megtörik, száguldásból toporgásba vált. Ennek tetejébe az a kifejezetten izgalmas alternatív történelemkezelés, ami addig ígéretesen, a háttérben settenkedve hozta zavarba az olvasót, most kibomlik, részben magyarázatot nyer, ám valahogy kacskán: egyértelműen többet vártam ettől a száltól, lehetett volna ezzel foglalkozni a túlzásba vitt Orpheusz-Eurüdiké párhuzam helyett.
Nem rossz ez, messze nem. Erős szöveg, amit majd szétvet a feszültség – de ezt a feszültséget az író nem mindig tudja kellőképpen irányítani. De végtére is (mindent összevetve) a kutyák megkerülték a háztömböt, kimozogták magukat, pisiltek, kakiltak... szóval ha úgy vesszük, minden jó, ha a vége jó.
Ami a kötetet illeti, a dolog többnyire jól működik. Rushdie ebei láthatóan nyugtalanok, de a gazda keze erősen tartja őket, így rakoncátlankodásuk izgalmas káoszt teremt, nem összeomlást. A szöveg Ormus és Vína, a két mesterzenész meséje (no és a szomorú harmadiké, Rái-é, aki ezt az egészet elmeséli), akik Bombay keleti forgatagából New York nyugati forgatagába kerülnek, miközben megmásszák a világhírnév szédítő ormait. Kelet-nyugat regény tehát - Rushdie-tól egyáltalán nem szokatlan módon –, amiből sok egyéb mellett az is kiderül, hogy amit a kelet vonzónak talál a nyugatban, és amit nyugat bölcsességnek lát keletben, az néha közelről nézve nem más, mint repedező fal és rothadó szemétszag.
De valahol a regény felét elhagyva az író marka lazul a pórázon, egyes ebek pedig elszabadulnak. Beszűkül a történet, gazdag meséből monológgá, időnként egyenesen lamentálássá válik. Mintha Rushdie-nak nem nagyon lett volna ötlete arra nézvést, mi legyen a történetből, amikor végre Vína és Ormus egymásra talál, a lendület megtörik, száguldásból toporgásba vált. Ennek tetejébe az a kifejezetten izgalmas alternatív történelemkezelés, ami addig ígéretesen, a háttérben settenkedve hozta zavarba az olvasót, most kibomlik, részben magyarázatot nyer, ám valahogy kacskán: egyértelműen többet vártam ettől a száltól, lehetett volna ezzel foglalkozni a túlzásba vitt Orpheusz-Eurüdiké párhuzam helyett.
Nem rossz ez, messze nem. Erős szöveg, amit majd szétvet a feszültség – de ezt a feszültséget az író nem mindig tudja kellőképpen irányítani. De végtére is (mindent összevetve) a kutyák megkerülték a háztömböt, kimozogták magukat, pisiltek, kakiltak... szóval ha úgy vesszük, minden jó, ha a vége jó.
May 6, 2015
I either love or hate Salman Rushdie. This book comes into the second category.
I'll never finish this book nor Haroun and the Sea of Stories, nor the Satanic Verses. Life is too short to plough through more than the first 50 pages if you haven't got into it by that stage. On the other hand though, I will probably reread Shame and Midnight's Children once in a while, I loved those books.
I'll never finish this book nor Haroun and the Sea of Stories, nor the Satanic Verses. Life is too short to plough through more than the first 50 pages if you haven't got into it by that stage. On the other hand though, I will probably reread Shame and Midnight's Children once in a while, I loved those books.
March 25, 2020
Тази книга спокойно можеше да бъде около 300 страници вместо 530. Излишното многословие на Рушди на моменти му играе лоша шега и съм убедена, че би отблъснало немалко читатели.
Иначе от романа могат да се научат доста неща, както от повечето книги на автора, но той изисква известно мозъчно усилие от началото до самия край.
Иначе от романа могат да се научат доста неща, както от повечето книги на автора, но той изисква известно мозъчно усилие от началото до самия край.
December 20, 2007
I think Rushdie can be a bit daunting sometimes because he's really an intellectual through and through. He fills his writing with countless references to mythology and history in a way that I find rewarding but some may find difficult. Rushdie creates the story of a band and music that grows to epic proportions. We follow the story of Rai, a photographer who falls precariously in love with Vina in India while still very much a boy. He basically devotes his whole life to Vina and the language is so strong that by the end, you forget that these characters really are fictional and didn't exist. Ormus, who Vina is also in love with, immediately recalls Freddie Mercury of the band Queen, who has many similarities. The other really engaging thing about this novel is following the characters, especially Rai from India to England to America. The only weakness is how it ends but I can forgive Rushdie this error as the rest of the writing in the novel is incredibly strong. This was the second time I read this one.
December 8, 2016
Having only read Midnight's Children by this author before, I was actually a tiny bit terrified of trying this one, especially on audio. It wasn't nearly as hard to follow so the audio ended up being an excellent option.
The story is told by a man named Rai and covers the time from his first sight of Vina until after her death. It tells the story of two lovers, Vina and Ormus, whose music is so compelling that it changes the world. Throughout the story we also know that Rai is in love with Vina and has been from when he first laid eyes on her. We get his personal view of these famous lovers and their triumphs and tragedies. It starts with Rai at the age of 13 and tells the stories of the families as well. We get to know them as teens and we learn their life story from well before their musical talents were known.
The story is supposed to be a retelling of the myth of Orpheus, and after a review of Wikipedia, I can see where those elements come in. Rushdie turns it into a very compelling story of love and loss, and a world that got broken along the way.
The story is told by a man named Rai and covers the time from his first sight of Vina until after her death. It tells the story of two lovers, Vina and Ormus, whose music is so compelling that it changes the world. Throughout the story we also know that Rai is in love with Vina and has been from when he first laid eyes on her. We get his personal view of these famous lovers and their triumphs and tragedies. It starts with Rai at the age of 13 and tells the stories of the families as well. We get to know them as teens and we learn their life story from well before their musical talents were known.
The story is supposed to be a retelling of the myth of Orpheus, and after a review of Wikipedia, I can see where those elements come in. Rushdie turns it into a very compelling story of love and loss, and a world that got broken along the way.
April 8, 2013
Tutti abbiamo qualcosa che ci sostiene a questo mondo, ma se quel qualcosa viene meno allora che si fa?
Saremo gli Ormus Cama della situazione o i Rai?
Si può vivere attaccati ad un ricordo e inseguendolo?
O si deve andare avanti?
Cosa succede quando la terra sotto i tuoi piedi inghiotte quello che hai di più caro?
Hai perso solo quello o anche te stesso?
E quel qualcosa è mai stato veramente tuo?
Fin dove può arrivare un amicizia?
Rushdie cerca di rispondere a tutto questo e a molto più...
Ecco perché questo libro contiene tutto... E molto di più...
Saremo gli Ormus Cama della situazione o i Rai?
Si può vivere attaccati ad un ricordo e inseguendolo?
O si deve andare avanti?
Cosa succede quando la terra sotto i tuoi piedi inghiotte quello che hai di più caro?
Hai perso solo quello o anche te stesso?
E quel qualcosa è mai stato veramente tuo?
Fin dove può arrivare un amicizia?
Rushdie cerca di rispondere a tutto questo e a molto più...
Ecco perché questo libro contiene tutto... E molto di più...
May 1, 2022
Dugo smo se vukle ova knjiga i ja. Pročitala sam je sa ogromnom pažnjom, upijajući svaku rečenicu.
Nije bilo lako. Ruždi je veliki intelektualac, gotovo zastrašujuće koliko veliki. Njegova moć da barata riječima i jezicima je zadivljujuća.
Ima neobične reference na mitologiju, istoriju, književnost, muziku, tako lijepo uklopljene u cjelokupnu priču koju je stvorio: o porodičnim vezama i odnosima, ljubavi, muzici (kao centru svijeta), osloncima u životu, vjeri... Ne znam ni sama, zbrkane su mi misli nakon svih ovih stranica, ali je utisak koji je ostavila na mene snažan.
Takođe, način na koji prati likove, kako Raia (naratora), tako kroz njegove oči i sve ostale, je fascinantan. Provlači ih kroz filtere mitologija i bogova (grčke, hinduističke, budističke), igra se njihovim psihičkim profilima, natjera vas da pogledate iz drugog ugla - da razumijete i čak opravdate u svojim očima serijskog ubicu, suočava ih sa porodičnim demonima, politikom, a pored svega toga, izdiže ih iznad svega i uči nas ljepoti ljubavi, kada joj se pristupi otvorenog srca.
"Dugo sam verovao da u svakoj generaciji ima nekoliko duša, nazovite ih srećnicima ili prokletima, koje su prosto rođene tako da ne pripadaju, koje dolaze na svet poluodvojene, ako hoćete, bez čvrste veze sa porodicom ili mestom ili nacijom ili rasom; da možda ima na milione, milijarde takvih duša, možda isto toliko nepripadajućih koliko i pripadajućih. Jer su oni koji cene stabilnost, koji se plaše prolaznosti, neizvesnosti, promena, podigli moćan sistem stigmi i tabua protiv neukorenjenosti, te razarajuće antidruštvene sile, tako da se uglavnom prilagođavamo, pretvaramo se da nas motivišu vernost i solidarnost koje u stvari ne osećamo, krijemo svoje tajne identitete ispod lažne kože onih identiteta koji su odobreni pečatom "pripadajućih". Ali, istina procuri u naše snove; dok smo sami u krevetu (jer noću smo potpuno sami, čak i ako spavamo sa nekim), vinemo se, letimo, bežimo. A u budnim sanjama koja naša društva dozvoljavaju, u našim mitovima, umetnostima, pesmama, slavimo nepripadajuće, drugačije, odmetnike, čudake."
"Pošto si čitavog života živeo u šumi, ne vidiš drveće."
"Mi smo imali tu privilegiju da izbliza posmatramo neke od najboljih - najbolje među najboljima – članove plejade slavnih varalica. Stoga, nas nije lako impresionirati, mi od svojih javnih lupeža zahtevamo varanje na najvišem nivou. Videli smo i previše, a ipak hoćemo da nas nasmeju i da u neverici zavrtimo glavom; oslanjamo se na prevarante da probude naše čuđenje, uspavano preteranošću našeg svakodnevnog života."
"Najbolje u našoj prirodi utopilo se u najgorem."
"Ubistvo je krivično delo nasilja prema ubijenoj osobi. Samoubistvo je krivično delo nasilja prema onima koji ostaju živi."
"Ako nemate sopstvenu sliku sveta, ne znate kako da pravite izbore – materijalne, bezvezne ili moralne. Ne znate šta je gore, a šta dole, da li odlazite ili dolazite, niti u kom grmu čuči zec."
"...a kad god nestane neko ko vas je poznavao, izgubite jednu verziju sebe. Vizija u njegovim očima, njegov sud o vama. Oni koji nas poznaju stvaraju nas, bilo da je u pitanju ljubavnik ili neprijatelj, majka ili prijatelj, i njihovi različiti doživljaji nas samih bruse stranice naše ličnosti, poput nekog oruđa za obradu dijamanta. Svaki takav gubitak jedan je korak bliže grobu, gde se sve verzije stapaju i završavaju."
Nije bilo lako. Ruždi je veliki intelektualac, gotovo zastrašujuće koliko veliki. Njegova moć da barata riječima i jezicima je zadivljujuća.
Ima neobične reference na mitologiju, istoriju, književnost, muziku, tako lijepo uklopljene u cjelokupnu priču koju je stvorio: o porodičnim vezama i odnosima, ljubavi, muzici (kao centru svijeta), osloncima u životu, vjeri... Ne znam ni sama, zbrkane su mi misli nakon svih ovih stranica, ali je utisak koji je ostavila na mene snažan.
Takođe, način na koji prati likove, kako Raia (naratora), tako kroz njegove oči i sve ostale, je fascinantan. Provlači ih kroz filtere mitologija i bogova (grčke, hinduističke, budističke), igra se njihovim psihičkim profilima, natjera vas da pogledate iz drugog ugla - da razumijete i čak opravdate u svojim očima serijskog ubicu, suočava ih sa porodičnim demonima, politikom, a pored svega toga, izdiže ih iznad svega i uči nas ljepoti ljubavi, kada joj se pristupi otvorenog srca.
"Dugo sam verovao da u svakoj generaciji ima nekoliko duša, nazovite ih srećnicima ili prokletima, koje su prosto rođene tako da ne pripadaju, koje dolaze na svet poluodvojene, ako hoćete, bez čvrste veze sa porodicom ili mestom ili nacijom ili rasom; da možda ima na milione, milijarde takvih duša, možda isto toliko nepripadajućih koliko i pripadajućih. Jer su oni koji cene stabilnost, koji se plaše prolaznosti, neizvesnosti, promena, podigli moćan sistem stigmi i tabua protiv neukorenjenosti, te razarajuće antidruštvene sile, tako da se uglavnom prilagođavamo, pretvaramo se da nas motivišu vernost i solidarnost koje u stvari ne osećamo, krijemo svoje tajne identitete ispod lažne kože onih identiteta koji su odobreni pečatom "pripadajućih". Ali, istina procuri u naše snove; dok smo sami u krevetu (jer noću smo potpuno sami, čak i ako spavamo sa nekim), vinemo se, letimo, bežimo. A u budnim sanjama koja naša društva dozvoljavaju, u našim mitovima, umetnostima, pesmama, slavimo nepripadajuće, drugačije, odmetnike, čudake."
"Pošto si čitavog života živeo u šumi, ne vidiš drveće."
"Mi smo imali tu privilegiju da izbliza posmatramo neke od najboljih - najbolje među najboljima – članove plejade slavnih varalica. Stoga, nas nije lako impresionirati, mi od svojih javnih lupeža zahtevamo varanje na najvišem nivou. Videli smo i previše, a ipak hoćemo da nas nasmeju i da u neverici zavrtimo glavom; oslanjamo se na prevarante da probude naše čuđenje, uspavano preteranošću našeg svakodnevnog života."
"Najbolje u našoj prirodi utopilo se u najgorem."
"Ubistvo je krivično delo nasilja prema ubijenoj osobi. Samoubistvo je krivično delo nasilja prema onima koji ostaju živi."
"Ako nemate sopstvenu sliku sveta, ne znate kako da pravite izbore – materijalne, bezvezne ili moralne. Ne znate šta je gore, a šta dole, da li odlazite ili dolazite, niti u kom grmu čuči zec."
"...a kad god nestane neko ko vas je poznavao, izgubite jednu verziju sebe. Vizija u njegovim očima, njegov sud o vama. Oni koji nas poznaju stvaraju nas, bilo da je u pitanju ljubavnik ili neprijatelj, majka ili prijatelj, i njihovi različiti doživljaji nas samih bruse stranice naše ličnosti, poput nekog oruđa za obradu dijamanta. Svaki takav gubitak jedan je korak bliže grobu, gde se sve verzije stapaju i završavaju."
January 14, 2020
I really wanted to read this book, and though I haven't read much else by him, I really like Salman Rushdie.. But I just couldn't get into this. Every time I picked it up I couldn't get through more than 20 pages without putting it down and finding myself with no incentive to pick it back up again. From October 2007 until about a month ago I hadn't even gotten through half the book.
Suffice it to say I was not impressed. I felt like it was just this long-winded story of nothing. There was so much irrelevant back story and unnecessary characters. The story itself could have been told in 150 pages and half of the characters could [AND SHOULD] have been completely eliminated.
As if that wasn't enough, I actually DISLIKED Vina Apsara. Here's this 600 page story about TWO men and an entire world that are madly in love with this famous, sexy, self-proclaiming free spirit and are completely destroyed due to her demise (this you learn on page 1 but it takes 500 pages to loop back around to) and I found her to be arrogant and pompous.
Why would you even agree to marry someone (especially someone who is madly in love with you and practices complete celibacy for over ten years) if you just want to sleep with other men?!
I don't believe "true love" is giving your body to other people.
Maybe that's just me..
But it made it extremely difficult for me to gain anything out of this novel when it's supposed to be the story of ultimate love and I rolled my eyes and found myself screaming at the male characters "She's a bitch, why do you even care about her!!???!@!"
Suffice it to say I was not impressed. I felt like it was just this long-winded story of nothing. There was so much irrelevant back story and unnecessary characters. The story itself could have been told in 150 pages and half of the characters could [AND SHOULD] have been completely eliminated.
As if that wasn't enough, I actually DISLIKED Vina Apsara. Here's this 600 page story about TWO men and an entire world that are madly in love with this famous, sexy, self-proclaiming free spirit and are completely destroyed due to her demise (this you learn on page 1 but it takes 500 pages to loop back around to) and I found her to be arrogant and pompous.
Why would you even agree to marry someone (especially someone who is madly in love with you and practices complete celibacy for over ten years) if you just want to sleep with other men?!
I don't believe "true love" is giving your body to other people.
Maybe that's just me..
But it made it extremely difficult for me to gain anything out of this novel when it's supposed to be the story of ultimate love and I rolled my eyes and found myself screaming at the male characters "She's a bitch, why do you even care about her!!???!@!"
August 4, 2007
i will confess that i started "satanic verses" ... key word, started. i read the first 10-15 pages, and realized that i had NO idea what i was reading. so i turned to a nifty cliff note thing on line and realized that what i had read and re-read four times was the protagonists falling through the air after their airplane kabooms ... surprising to me. and thats when i did not read anymore (maybe some other day).
i picked this one up hesitantly. i wanted to read something by rushdie, and a good friend of mine highly recommended this. let's just say, he has yet to fail me :)
this is a brilliantly written story. it's a soap opera ... a tale of lovers' woe ... there is not much surprise or originality in the love story ... in fact i didnt care about any of the characters much ... our diva is a selfish bi-atch who does not deserve the love she gets ... her beau is an idiotic hopeless romantic ... and then there is the other hopeless romantic, who pines for a woman and takes what he can get -- pathetic. there was not one character i liked.
but it is how the story is told that is fantastic. it is the language of the story, rusdie is a magician with words. sometimes i would read the same sentence half a dozen times ... no word was misplaced or misused ... it was perfect. i guess there is something to be said about writing un-likable characters, but still being so brilliant that your readers cannot help but to keep reading.
that said, i did not like the ending of the book ... the resolution, how each character's life is resolved. there is some mysticism in this as well, which i still do not know how i feel about. nonetheless, it is an amazingly written novel. a gem ... a beautiful and poetic novel.
November 30, 2016
I honestly was bored just a few pages into this one. I don't even remember finishing it. I think that as much as I loved The Satanic Verses, Midnight's Children, and The Moor's Last Sigh as well as Jaguar Nights, Imaginary Homelands, and Haroun and the Sea of Stories, his other fiction just has not had the power to pull me in as much into his universe. Apparently, I am not the only one on GR to have been underwhelmed by this one so it will sink low on my to-be-read-again-when-I-am-retired-and-read-everything-else-on-my-tbr list.
June 26, 2009
Orpheus and Eurydice as rock stars. Epic tale of music 'n' love.
And the deification of genius.
Also, highlights celebrity's recent secularisation. How today's stars function for community instead of idolatry.
"the point is always reached after which the gods no longer share their lives with mortal men and women, they die or wither away or retire... Now that they've gone, the high drama's over. What remains is ordinary human life."
And the deification of genius.
Also, highlights celebrity's recent secularisation. How today's stars function for community instead of idolatry.
"the point is always reached after which the gods no longer share their lives with mortal men and women, they die or wither away or retire... Now that they've gone, the high drama's over. What remains is ordinary human life."
August 13, 2022
Отново „хитринките“ на Рушди, както и редовните политически и философски коментари.
Първата една трета ми беше най-интересна. Когато действието се развиваше в Бомбай, всичко беше по-автентично и силно (никой, включително Рушди, не може да скъса с Индия, след като е бил свързан с нея ). Много реалистична представа получих за града Бомбай и хората му от онова време (след Независимостта). Но когато действието се пренесе в Англия и САЩ, интересът ми малко спадна. Последните 100 страници отново ми се сториха силни. А последните 10 страници ме докараха до сълзи – „простих” за всичко по-разтеглено на Рушди в тази книга. Спомних си всички мои любими оцелели и неоцелели рок музиканти и нелеката им съдба (въпреки всеобщото противоположно мнение за розов живот), завладяващата сила на музикалния талант; изплуването на миналото в края на живота; дълбочината на майчината любов (дори от неродна майка) и копнежа за получаване на такава любов от всяко дете (както копнежа за живот с деца); и накрая – въпреки земетръсните вълнения в сърцата ни – как вътрешно всеки се стреми да стъпи на стабилна земя, макар и да не го показва.
От самата любовна история и от представянето на rock’n’roll живота не научих много в основната част на книгата. Може би защото съм чела толкова много рок биографии... Все пак признавам, че беше отделено внимание на особеностите на музиката на двамата главни герои и нейното послание, нещо на моменти даже ми напомняше на Jim Morrison и Pam, а и на толкова други.
Преводачката е вникнала във всички детайли и познава всяка буквичка от книгата – огромен труд!
А ав��орът – този човек е „свръхерудит”– голяма глава; не просто знания и факти, а дълбоко познаване на история и съвременност, религии, митология, политика, национални особености, чисто хуманни аспекти и собствено виждане по всички тези въпроси/области. Няма да се изненадам, ако има управления/държави, които биха му се сърдили не само заради „Сатанински строфи”, а за всички негови романи.
Други интересни теми освен любовта, родината и рок музиката: свързаността на близнаците, воайорството при фотографията, „сляпата” любов, важната (и за нас) 1989 г., „драмата” Изток – Запад.
Четенето си бе��е п��еживяване и пътешествие. С голям плюс – Салман Рушди си играе с думите както винаги.
Първата една трета ми беше най-интересна. Когато действието се развиваше в Бомбай, всичко беше по-автентично и силно (никой, включително Рушди, не може да скъса с Индия, след като е бил свързан с нея ). Много реалистична представа получих за града Бомбай и хората му от онова време (след Независимостта). Но когато действието се пренесе в Англия и САЩ, интересът ми малко спадна. Последните 100 страници отново ми се сториха силни. А последните 10 страници ме докараха до сълзи – „простих” за всичко по-разтеглено на Рушди в тази книга. Спомних си всички мои любими оцелели и неоцелели рок музиканти и нелеката им съдба (въпреки всеобщото противоположно мнение за розов живот), завладяващата сила на музикалния талант; изплуването на миналото в края на живота; дълбочината на майчината любов (дори от неродна майка) и копнежа за получаване на такава любов от всяко дете (както копнежа за живот с деца); и накрая – въпреки земетръсните вълнения в сърцата ни – как вътрешно всеки се стреми да стъпи на стабилна земя, макар и да не го показва.
От самата любовна история и от представянето на rock’n’roll живота не научих много в основната част на книгата. Може би защото съм чела толкова много рок биографии... Все пак признавам, че беше отделено внимание на особеностите на музиката на двамата главни герои и нейното послание, нещо на моменти даже ми напомняше на Jim Morrison и Pam, а и на толкова други.
Преводачката е вникнала във всички детайли и познава всяка буквичка от книгата – огромен труд!
А ав��орът – този човек е „свръхерудит”– голяма глава; не просто знания и факти, а дълбоко познаване на история и съвременност, религии, митология, политика, национални особености, чисто хуманни аспекти и собствено виждане по всички тези въпроси/области. Няма да се изненадам, ако има управления/държави, които биха му се сърдили не само заради „Сатанински строфи”, а за всички негови романи.
Други интересни теми освен любовта, родината и рок музиката: свързаността на близнаците, воайорството при фотографията, „сляпата” любов, важната (и за нас) 1989 г., „драмата” Изток – Запад.
Четенето си бе��е п��еживяване и пътешествие. С голям плюс – Салман Рушди си играе с думите както винаги.
September 21, 2015
Absolute favourite. The man weaves a tale like no other. <3
August 31, 2020
I usually like Salman Rushdies books but I just couldn't get invested into the story, nothing held my attention, just wanted it to be over
July 12, 2009
I’d never read Rushdie before. I can see why he has a Jihad against him — even in this book which only incidentally addresses religion, he is not shy about saying he sees no place for it. But that is beside the point. Rushdie is, truly, a brilliant writer.
The story is something about two kids from India who grow up to form the biggest rock and roll band of all time in some sort of closely-allied alternate reality, outselling even the Beatles. The themes are much wider ranging. There is the love of music and art, the strange workings of culture and politics, the sense of belonging or being an outsider, and finally, in the end, a love triangle. Pretty standard literary stuff, I suppose, but there’s a lot in there. In some sense it’s all in there. He talks about everything. It’s breathtaking. And the language is lovely, poetry all the way through.
There’s a sly humour through the whole thing as well, visible most clearly through the alternate reality he creates, where “Jesse Parker” wrote Heartbreak Hotel, Madonna is a music critic, and JFK survived the assassination attempt (there’s also a crazy novel called “Watergate” where Nixon is thrown out of office for bugging the democrats.) Actually, more precisely, the novel is set in two parallel universes, one of which is our own and gradually fades throughout the story to become just another possibility that didn’t happen.
Otherwise, I really don’t know how to describe this book. It’s pretty damn amazing, one of the finest works I’ve ever read, both in terms of scope and execution. Rushdie is incredibly in touch with very many things, both academic (mythology, film theory) and popular (music, politics, Bombay street life) and as a result his novel is real and complete in a way I find deeply inspiring.
I’m going to end by quoting a passage that I found particularly resonant, perhaps the only time I’ve ever seen a deep part of myself expressed well in words:
For a long while I have believed … that in every generation there are a few souls, call them lucky or cursed, who are simply born not belonging, who come into the world semi-detached, if you like, without strong affiliation to family or location or nation or race; that there may even be millions, billions of such souls, as many non-belongers as belongers, perhaps; that, in sum, the phenomenon may be as “natural” a manifestation of human nature as its opposite, but one that been mostly frustrated, throughout human history, by lack of opportunity. And not only by that: for those who value stability, who fear transience, uncertainty, change, have erected a powerful system of stigmas and taboos against rootlessness, that disruptive, anti-social force, so that we mostly conform, we pretend to be motivated by loyalties and solidarities we do not really feel, we hide our secret identities beneath the false skins of those identities which bear the belongers seal of approval. But the truth leaks out in our dreams; alone in our beds (because we are all alone at night, even if we do not sleep by ourselves), we soar, we fly, we flee. And in the waking dreams our societies permit, in our myths, our arts, our songs, we celebrate the non-belongers, the different ones, the outlaws, the freaks. What we forbid ourselves we pay good money to watch, in a play-house or movie theatre, or to read about between the secret covers of a book. Our libraries, our places of entertainment tell the truth. The tramp, the assassin, the rebel, the thief, the mutant, the outcast, the delinquent, the devil, the sinner, the traveler, the gangster, the runner, the mask: if we did not recognize in them our least-fulfilled needs, we would not invent them over and over again, in every place, in every language, in every time.
No sooner did we have ships than we rushed to sea, sailing across oceans in paper boats. No sooner did we have cars than we hit the road. No sooner did we have airplanes then we zoomed to the furthers corners of the globe. Now we year for the moon’s dark side, the rocky plains of Mars, the rings of Saturn, the interstellar deeps. We send mechanical photographers into orbit, or on one-way journeys to the stars, and we weep at the wonders they transmit; we are humbled by the mighty images of far-off galaxies standing like cloud pillars in the sky, and we give names to alien rocks, as if they were our pets. We hunger for warp space, for the outlying rim of time. And this is the species that kids itself it likes to stay at home, to bind itself with--what are they called again? ”ties"
The story is something about two kids from India who grow up to form the biggest rock and roll band of all time in some sort of closely-allied alternate reality, outselling even the Beatles. The themes are much wider ranging. There is the love of music and art, the strange workings of culture and politics, the sense of belonging or being an outsider, and finally, in the end, a love triangle. Pretty standard literary stuff, I suppose, but there’s a lot in there. In some sense it’s all in there. He talks about everything. It’s breathtaking. And the language is lovely, poetry all the way through.
There’s a sly humour through the whole thing as well, visible most clearly through the alternate reality he creates, where “Jesse Parker” wrote Heartbreak Hotel, Madonna is a music critic, and JFK survived the assassination attempt (there’s also a crazy novel called “Watergate” where Nixon is thrown out of office for bugging the democrats.) Actually, more precisely, the novel is set in two parallel universes, one of which is our own and gradually fades throughout the story to become just another possibility that didn’t happen.
Otherwise, I really don’t know how to describe this book. It’s pretty damn amazing, one of the finest works I’ve ever read, both in terms of scope and execution. Rushdie is incredibly in touch with very many things, both academic (mythology, film theory) and popular (music, politics, Bombay street life) and as a result his novel is real and complete in a way I find deeply inspiring.
I’m going to end by quoting a passage that I found particularly resonant, perhaps the only time I’ve ever seen a deep part of myself expressed well in words:
For a long while I have believed … that in every generation there are a few souls, call them lucky or cursed, who are simply born not belonging, who come into the world semi-detached, if you like, without strong affiliation to family or location or nation or race; that there may even be millions, billions of such souls, as many non-belongers as belongers, perhaps; that, in sum, the phenomenon may be as “natural” a manifestation of human nature as its opposite, but one that been mostly frustrated, throughout human history, by lack of opportunity. And not only by that: for those who value stability, who fear transience, uncertainty, change, have erected a powerful system of stigmas and taboos against rootlessness, that disruptive, anti-social force, so that we mostly conform, we pretend to be motivated by loyalties and solidarities we do not really feel, we hide our secret identities beneath the false skins of those identities which bear the belongers seal of approval. But the truth leaks out in our dreams; alone in our beds (because we are all alone at night, even if we do not sleep by ourselves), we soar, we fly, we flee. And in the waking dreams our societies permit, in our myths, our arts, our songs, we celebrate the non-belongers, the different ones, the outlaws, the freaks. What we forbid ourselves we pay good money to watch, in a play-house or movie theatre, or to read about between the secret covers of a book. Our libraries, our places of entertainment tell the truth. The tramp, the assassin, the rebel, the thief, the mutant, the outcast, the delinquent, the devil, the sinner, the traveler, the gangster, the runner, the mask: if we did not recognize in them our least-fulfilled needs, we would not invent them over and over again, in every place, in every language, in every time.
No sooner did we have ships than we rushed to sea, sailing across oceans in paper boats. No sooner did we have cars than we hit the road. No sooner did we have airplanes then we zoomed to the furthers corners of the globe. Now we year for the moon’s dark side, the rocky plains of Mars, the rings of Saturn, the interstellar deeps. We send mechanical photographers into orbit, or on one-way journeys to the stars, and we weep at the wonders they transmit; we are humbled by the mighty images of far-off galaxies standing like cloud pillars in the sky, and we give names to alien rocks, as if they were our pets. We hunger for warp space, for the outlying rim of time. And this is the species that kids itself it likes to stay at home, to bind itself with--what are they called again? ”ties"
August 26, 2016
oops! i did it again. i started it for the third time. and i'm determined to finish and like it [i intend the same thing with ulysses and foucault's pendulum - i'll see about the rest]. if only i could get over the first 100 pages. wish me luck. i can't believe i paid 43.8 RON in 2005 to get this book. well, this might be just another reason for reading it ;)
U2 feat. rushdie wrote a beautiful song based on the book
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hQ-XKz...
***
24.10.2008
"The only people who see the whole picture are the ones who step out of the frame."
*i'm sort of happy i didn't read the book earlier, i just discovered some cinematographic referrals to fellini, bergman and godard i would have certainly skipped back then.
*i still fail to picture rushdie's art deco (?!) bombay. i can't separate india from malaria, cholera or typhoid.
*rai reminds me of nick carraway narrating gatsby's love story.
26.10.2008
70's Bombay through a photographer's lenses:
"There was too much money, too much poverty, too much nakedness, too much disguise, too much anger, too much vermilion, too much purple. There were too many dashed hopes and narrowed minds. There was far, far too much light."
and a beautiful tribute to James Joyce ( Ulysses)
"The hanged man and I were alone for a long time. His feet swung not far from my revolted nose and yes I wondered about the heels of his boots yes when I got the ropes off I made myself approach him yes in spite of his pong like the end of the world and the biting insects yes and the rawness of my throat and my eyes sore from bulging as I puked I took hold of his heels one after other yes I twisted the left heel it came up empty but the right heel did the right thing the film just plopped down in my hand yes and I put an unused film in its place from my own boot yes and I could feel his body all perfume and my heart was going like mad and I made my escape with Piloo's fate and my own golden future in my hand yes and to hell with everything I said yes because it might just as well be me as another so yes I will yes I did yes."
27.10.2008
i have the feeling that if i update my reading status more often, i'll finish the book sooner. i already imagine myself reading something light, kinsella or smth similar ;p
so far, i don't like vina's character. dunno why.
30.10.2008
"After a tense initial period during which they sometimes see each other in the evenings, with painfully awkward results, they agree to meet only to rehearse with the other band members, to discuss their finances and to perform. They are never alone together any more, they never eat a meal or take in a movie in each other's company, never phone each other, never go dancing, never feed animals in the zoo, never touch. Like divorced couples, they avoid each other's gaze. Yet, mysteriously they continue to say they are both deeply, irreversibly, forever-and-a-day in love.
What can this mean?
It means they are with each other constantly even while they are apart."
***
No dear, it means that they're both stupid.
Stupid oath. Stupid Ormus for accepting Vina's eccentricities and caprices.
31.10.2008
some final notes:
rushdie is indeed a skillful writer, and his use of language is absolutely beautiful. i liked the many references he made to literature, cinema and mythology, though at some point i was fed up with remarks about orpheus and eurydice.
speaking of the two mythological characters and the multiple connections between them and the larger-than-life characters of ormus and vina, i prefer mortals like rai.
i really don't get why rai and ormus would both worship the ground beneath vina's feet.
i'll reward myself with a whole box of chocolate for finishing this :d
oh, and one final thing: it was the last place where i thought i'd read about ceausescu and targu secuiesc [misspelled târgul-sačuesc] :)
U2 feat. rushdie wrote a beautiful song based on the book
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hQ-XKz...
***
24.10.2008
"The only people who see the whole picture are the ones who step out of the frame."
*i'm sort of happy i didn't read the book earlier, i just discovered some cinematographic referrals to fellini, bergman and godard i would have certainly skipped back then.
*i still fail to picture rushdie's art deco (?!) bombay. i can't separate india from malaria, cholera or typhoid.
*rai reminds me of nick carraway narrating gatsby's love story.
26.10.2008
70's Bombay through a photographer's lenses:
"There was too much money, too much poverty, too much nakedness, too much disguise, too much anger, too much vermilion, too much purple. There were too many dashed hopes and narrowed minds. There was far, far too much light."
and a beautiful tribute to James Joyce ( Ulysses)
"The hanged man and I were alone for a long time. His feet swung not far from my revolted nose and yes I wondered about the heels of his boots yes when I got the ropes off I made myself approach him yes in spite of his pong like the end of the world and the biting insects yes and the rawness of my throat and my eyes sore from bulging as I puked I took hold of his heels one after other yes I twisted the left heel it came up empty but the right heel did the right thing the film just plopped down in my hand yes and I put an unused film in its place from my own boot yes and I could feel his body all perfume and my heart was going like mad and I made my escape with Piloo's fate and my own golden future in my hand yes and to hell with everything I said yes because it might just as well be me as another so yes I will yes I did yes."
27.10.2008
i have the feeling that if i update my reading status more often, i'll finish the book sooner. i already imagine myself reading something light, kinsella or smth similar ;p
so far, i don't like vina's character. dunno why.
30.10.2008
"After a tense initial period during which they sometimes see each other in the evenings, with painfully awkward results, they agree to meet only to rehearse with the other band members, to discuss their finances and to perform. They are never alone together any more, they never eat a meal or take in a movie in each other's company, never phone each other, never go dancing, never feed animals in the zoo, never touch. Like divorced couples, they avoid each other's gaze. Yet, mysteriously they continue to say they are both deeply, irreversibly, forever-and-a-day in love.
What can this mean?
It means they are with each other constantly even while they are apart."
***
No dear, it means that they're both stupid.
Stupid oath. Stupid Ormus for accepting Vina's eccentricities and caprices.
31.10.2008
some final notes:
rushdie is indeed a skillful writer, and his use of language is absolutely beautiful. i liked the many references he made to literature, cinema and mythology, though at some point i was fed up with remarks about orpheus and eurydice.
speaking of the two mythological characters and the multiple connections between them and the larger-than-life characters of ormus and vina, i prefer mortals like rai.
i really don't get why rai and ormus would both worship the ground beneath vina's feet.
i'll reward myself with a whole box of chocolate for finishing this :d
oh, and one final thing: it was the last place where i thought i'd read about ceausescu and targu secuiesc [misspelled târgul-sačuesc] :)
September 22, 2019
Our world is apparently the imaginary one, Greek myths, India as always and the girl/woman who everyone wants to be or be with.
Lets get the Greek myths out of the way first, I see the parts and how Rushdie wanted them bring the Ormus and Vina love affair into a higher realm but it felt like a minor piece. Vina and Ormus' relationship was always set apart by their actions both chaste and promiscuous. I think Rushdie came up with the mythology part just to name the final farewell tour the Underworld Tour.
In all of Rushdie's novels (ok the only two I have read) everything starts with India. There is a sense of roots and belonging along with loss and change. Rushdie, through his writing, struggles with the massive changes India has gone through since the 40's. Most of it good, some of it bad but like all of us he has a fondness for what was and what was familiar. The characters in The Ground Beneath Her Feet go through the same pain. Bombay is a familiar home yet with so many changes it drives most of them out.
Vina is a woman who floats through the world with man like privileges. Rushdie published this in 2000 so the me too era had certainly not taken root, but Vina feels like a woman who has been granted all of the advantages men get just by being men. She reacts to her early childhood abuse with physical abuse of her abusers and comes out better for it, she sleeps with whoever she wants with impunity, she has two long term lovers who simply just deal with the situation. Rai in fact points this out late in the novel when he compares himself to the mistress that never gets as much as she wants from her man and Ormus to the tolerant wife who looks past her husband's indiscretions.
Finally we have the imaginary world part, which is where I got the most satisfaction from the novel. According to the characters our (yours and mine) world is imaginary, only realized by Ormus and very late Rai. Many of the events in TGBHF are fiction yet based on possible events in our world. There was one visitor/lover that continually materialized from ours to visit Ormus. My theory throughout the book was that Vina herself was a visitor from our world but didn't know it. She was there to show Rushdie's world the beauty and power that could exist. Rushdie used his imaginary alternate world to make several commentaries about fractured states, the value of music and art and the ground always shifting away from us.
His pop culture references from Star Trek, to Steven Segal were always well done, flavors to the story not pretentious name dropping. It can be hard to keep up with all that he is saying but if you just take what you notice it can be very satisfying. I enjoyed this much more than Midnight's Children and will probably seek out another Rushdie book before too long.
Lets get the Greek myths out of the way first, I see the parts and how Rushdie wanted them bring the Ormus and Vina love affair into a higher realm but it felt like a minor piece. Vina and Ormus' relationship was always set apart by their actions both chaste and promiscuous. I think Rushdie came up with the mythology part just to name the final farewell tour the Underworld Tour.
In all of Rushdie's novels (ok the only two I have read) everything starts with India. There is a sense of roots and belonging along with loss and change. Rushdie, through his writing, struggles with the massive changes India has gone through since the 40's. Most of it good, some of it bad but like all of us he has a fondness for what was and what was familiar. The characters in The Ground Beneath Her Feet go through the same pain. Bombay is a familiar home yet with so many changes it drives most of them out.
Vina is a woman who floats through the world with man like privileges. Rushdie published this in 2000 so the me too era had certainly not taken root, but Vina feels like a woman who has been granted all of the advantages men get just by being men. She reacts to her early childhood abuse with physical abuse of her abusers and comes out better for it, she sleeps with whoever she wants with impunity, she has two long term lovers who simply just deal with the situation. Rai in fact points this out late in the novel when he compares himself to the mistress that never gets as much as she wants from her man and Ormus to the tolerant wife who looks past her husband's indiscretions.
Finally we have the imaginary world part, which is where I got the most satisfaction from the novel. According to the characters our (yours and mine) world is imaginary, only realized by Ormus and very late Rai. Many of the events in TGBHF are fiction yet based on possible events in our world. There was one visitor/lover that continually materialized from ours to visit Ormus. My theory throughout the book was that Vina herself was a visitor from our world but didn't know it. She was there to show Rushdie's world the beauty and power that could exist. Rushdie used his imaginary alternate world to make several commentaries about fractured states, the value of music and art and the ground always shifting away from us.
His pop culture references from Star Trek, to Steven Segal were always well done, flavors to the story not pretentious name dropping. It can be hard to keep up with all that he is saying but if you just take what you notice it can be very satisfying. I enjoyed this much more than Midnight's Children and will probably seek out another Rushdie book before too long.
August 1, 2016
Rushie sir, I love you so please don't mind me giving this book Three stars :)
"Those who value stability, who fear transience, uncertainly, change, have erected a powerful system of stigmas and taboos against rootlessness, that disruptive, anti-social force, so that we mostly conform, we pretend to be motivated by loyalties and solidarities we do not really feel, we hide our secret identities beneath the false skins of those identities which bear the belongers’ seal of approval.
But the truth leaks out in our dreams; alone in our beds (because we are all alone at night, even if we do not sleep by ourselves), we soar, we fly, we flee. And in the waking dreams our societies permit, in our myths, our arts, our songs, we celebrate the non-belongers, the different ones, the outlaws, the freaks.
What we forbid ourselves we pay good money to watch, in a playhouse or a movie theater, or to read about between the secret covers of a book. Our libraries, our palaces of entertainment tell the truth. The tramp, the assassin, the rebel, the thief, the mutant, the outcast, the delinquent, the devil, the sinner, the traveler, the gangster, the runner, the mask: if we did not recognize in them our least-fulfilled needs, we would not invent them over and over again, in every place, in every language, in every time.” -The ground beneath her feet.
This book is extraordinary till 70% of its length and at last it tumble down for its staleness ... Out of 576 page anyhow I managed to read 450 pages and it took me around 4 months reading last hundred pages... Giving up in a mid-way as it stopped making any sense onward. The same story, fro and to and to and fro and the pendulum unnecessarily swings so better to put full stop.
December 26, 2015
"Le uniche persone che vedono tutto il quadro sono quelle che escono dalla cornice"
La terra sotto i suoi piedi è quello che manca a Vina in primo luogo, e poi a tutti i comprimari di questa ode appassionata all'immortalità dell'Amore con la A maiuscola...Vina scompare inghiottita dalla terra, ma non prima che Rai ce ne racconti ogni pensiero, gesto o segreto rimpianto, e certo non prima che il lettore abbia abbondantemente compreso che Salman Rushdie, mentre racconta di un amore per una dea, sta anche raccontando della sua passione per la sua terra, per una donna vacua e volubile, e per tutto quel che nella vita si è lasciato indietro...
ps. consiglio la lettura di questo romanzo dopo quella della biografia di Rushdie (Joseph Anton) dal momento che contestualizzandone il momento in cui è stato scritto è più facile comprendere il perchè di tanta foga amorosa per un mito e allo stesso tempo per una donna che in realtà non è che un archetipo...
La terra sotto i suoi piedi è quello che manca a Vina in primo luogo, e poi a tutti i comprimari di questa ode appassionata all'immortalità dell'Amore con la A maiuscola...Vina scompare inghiottita dalla terra, ma non prima che Rai ce ne racconti ogni pensiero, gesto o segreto rimpianto, e certo non prima che il lettore abbia abbondantemente compreso che Salman Rushdie, mentre racconta di un amore per una dea, sta anche raccontando della sua passione per la sua terra, per una donna vacua e volubile, e per tutto quel che nella vita si è lasciato indietro...
ps. consiglio la lettura di questo romanzo dopo quella della biografia di Rushdie (Joseph Anton) dal momento che contestualizzandone il momento in cui è stato scritto è più facile comprendere il perchè di tanta foga amorosa per un mito e allo stesso tempo per una donna che in realtà non è che un archetipo...
September 24, 2023
44-oji XX a. Aukso fondo knyga. Panašu, kad bet kuri šio autoriaus knyga tuoj pat įtraukiama į aukso fondo sąrašą. Tačiau šį autorių reikia mėgti - kaip yra Gabrielio García Márquezo gerbėjų, taip yra ir su šiuo autoriumi. Prie roko muzikos pasaulio įprastinio trikampio – muzika, meilė, mirtis čia reikia pridėti dar vieną žodį - Indija. Gal bohemiškas gyvenimas spinduliuoja laisve visur, bet šioje knygoje yra stiprus indiškas prieskonis. Kol kas man tai geriausia šio autoriaus knyga, atsiprašau, kad tai ne "Šėtoniškos eilės" kaip rašo knygų kritikai ar apdovanojimų teikėjai.
September 15, 2013
Enquanto olho para o meu exemplar de O Chão que Ela Pisa, de Salman Rushdie, tento lembrar-me da história de Vina Apsara e Ormus Cama, narrada pelo fotógrafo Rai. Mas já não me recordo. Claro que se começasse a (re)ler, depressa se acenderia na minha memória, como num enorme salão em que as luzes se vão ligando aos poucos, até se encontrar totalmente iluminado. Foi um livro que li demoradamente. Uma ou duas semanas, porque há momentos da nossa vida enquanto leitores, em que nos bastam algumas páginas por noite, antes de adormecer, para dormirmos satisfeitos.
Comprei o Chão que Ela Pisa numa tarde em que andava pelas livrarias à procura de Os Versículos Satânicos. Não os tendo encontrado, decidi que ao menos teria que comprar um livro do mesmo autor. Ainda foi num tempo em que as editoras não tinham sites na internet, e a própria internet era um bem escasso, muitas vezes pago a peso de ouro, em meias-horas num qualquer cyber-sítio. O Chão que Ela Pisa podia muito bem ser uma história de um amor impossível - não recordo a história, nem quero lembrar-me dela agora, talvez até seja a história de um amor impossível. Certo é que foi por esse motivo que me decidi por este título. Podia ser a história de um Cavaleiro Andante que segue as pisadas da sua Amada sem que alguma vez a consiga alcançar.
Sempre gostei de histórias de amores impossíveis. O pior que um autor me pode fazer é atirar-me com um «e viveram felizes para sempre» à cara. Levo-lhe a mal, e recuso-me a ler-lhe mais uma página que seja. Não gosto que me mintam, e gosto ainda menos que me digam a verdade, que eu não gosto de ser evangelizado. Quero lá saber se casaram, se tiveram filhos, se se amaram mesmo ou se apenas perseguiram uma miragem... O que importa são os caminhos percorridos, aquilo que investiram e aquilo de que abdicaram, aquilo que mudaram em si, aquilo que temeram, o que sofreram, as emoções que sentiram, o que choraram: sim, os heróis também choram, só as pessoas normais não choram. E pessoas normais só existem nos manuais de estatística.
Também tenho para ali, de Salman Rushdie, Os Filhos da Meia-Noite, mas já ganhou tantos prémios que me tirou toda a vontade que tinha de o ler. É que com tantos prémios a expectativa inflaciona tanto a qualidade do livro, que dificilmente a realidade chegará a metade. E além de mais, assim posso continuar a querer lê-lo, o que é sempre uma grande vantagem.
Comprei o Chão que Ela Pisa numa tarde em que andava pelas livrarias à procura de Os Versículos Satânicos. Não os tendo encontrado, decidi que ao menos teria que comprar um livro do mesmo autor. Ainda foi num tempo em que as editoras não tinham sites na internet, e a própria internet era um bem escasso, muitas vezes pago a peso de ouro, em meias-horas num qualquer cyber-sítio. O Chão que Ela Pisa podia muito bem ser uma história de um amor impossível - não recordo a história, nem quero lembrar-me dela agora, talvez até seja a história de um amor impossível. Certo é que foi por esse motivo que me decidi por este título. Podia ser a história de um Cavaleiro Andante que segue as pisadas da sua Amada sem que alguma vez a consiga alcançar.
Sempre gostei de histórias de amores impossíveis. O pior que um autor me pode fazer é atirar-me com um «e viveram felizes para sempre» à cara. Levo-lhe a mal, e recuso-me a ler-lhe mais uma página que seja. Não gosto que me mintam, e gosto ainda menos que me digam a verdade, que eu não gosto de ser evangelizado. Quero lá saber se casaram, se tiveram filhos, se se amaram mesmo ou se apenas perseguiram uma miragem... O que importa são os caminhos percorridos, aquilo que investiram e aquilo de que abdicaram, aquilo que mudaram em si, aquilo que temeram, o que sofreram, as emoções que sentiram, o que choraram: sim, os heróis também choram, só as pessoas normais não choram. E pessoas normais só existem nos manuais de estatística.
Também tenho para ali, de Salman Rushdie, Os Filhos da Meia-Noite, mas já ganhou tantos prémios que me tirou toda a vontade que tinha de o ler. É que com tantos prémios a expectativa inflaciona tanto a qualidade do livro, que dificilmente a realidade chegará a metade. E além de mais, assim posso continuar a querer lê-lo, o que é sempre uma grande vantagem.
July 29, 2008
Ok, ok, I know Rushdie has an obvious gift for language, and almost no one can create a better pun, but this "retelling of the Orpheus myth via an alternate-reality alternative-history of rock n' roll" (whew) left me decidedly un-gripped. As other readers have discovered, almost all of the characters are unlikeable. Vina, the rock goddess who is supposedly adored by the world, is self-centered and execrable, her endlessly cuckolded husband/virtuoso guitarist Ormus Cama is a dope, and Rai the narrator is annoying in his inexplicable obsession with Vina. I actually wish I could've given the book 2 and a half stars. I really wanted to like this story, and at times I did. I enjoyed the way that Rushdie had "their" world and "ours" occasionally cross paths and dip into each other, and his various references to mythology and people in the music industry from the 60's to the 80's were fun to spot. However, when he tried to write about music itself, the business and stardom, I wasn't really convinced. Legs McNeil, he ain't.
January 23, 2019
THE GROUND BENEATH HER FEET is a sort of postmodern retelling of the Eurydice and Orpheus myth. Rock music replaces, in this novel, Orpheus's lyre.
No brief summary can hope to convey all the historical, religious, mythological and pop musical range of references of this ambitious, original and extremely long novel. There is an epic love story, a story of emigration, but, above all, it is a fictive history of rock music.
Despite Rushdie's amazing talent as a writer, this novel was rather disappointing. Maybe the subject left me cold, or maybe the many -too many - extended meditations on love, death, art and the infinite number of digressions conspired to make me unable to feel immersed in the narrative. I found it a plodding chronicle of the lives of the three main characters which did not work as a seamless whole.
This novel lacks the magic and panache of Rushdie's previous books. I wouldn't recommend it it unless you are a fan of the history of rock and roll.
No brief summary can hope to convey all the historical, religious, mythological and pop musical range of references of this ambitious, original and extremely long novel. There is an epic love story, a story of emigration, but, above all, it is a fictive history of rock music.
Despite Rushdie's amazing talent as a writer, this novel was rather disappointing. Maybe the subject left me cold, or maybe the many -too many - extended meditations on love, death, art and the infinite number of digressions conspired to make me unable to feel immersed in the narrative. I found it a plodding chronicle of the lives of the three main characters which did not work as a seamless whole.
This novel lacks the magic and panache of Rushdie's previous books. I wouldn't recommend it it unless you are a fan of the history of rock and roll.
January 14, 2021
Well. This baggy monster was certainly a giant step down from everything else Salman Rushdie has written. I happened upon a review that quite magically expressed my sentiments about the novel, with great specificity.
https://archive.nytimes.com/www.nytim...
Up until now, I thought the man could do no wrong. I didn't love his autobiography, but I gave him a pass on that. It's a different type of writing. But this was a giant flop, redeemed only slightly by some beautiful, Rushdie-esque passages early in the book about Bombay, and a few sections here and there that soar above the rest. But mostly it was laborious, and (I have to say) masturbatory. A great writer indulging in his gift and beating his favorite dead-horse themes to death without much of a story. Waste.
https://archive.nytimes.com/www.nytim...
Up until now, I thought the man could do no wrong. I didn't love his autobiography, but I gave him a pass on that. It's a different type of writing. But this was a giant flop, redeemed only slightly by some beautiful, Rushdie-esque passages early in the book about Bombay, and a few sections here and there that soar above the rest. But mostly it was laborious, and (I have to say) masturbatory. A great writer indulging in his gift and beating his favorite dead-horse themes to death without much of a story. Waste.
April 10, 2018
În fața unui asemenea roman, nu poți decât să rămâi împietrit și fascinat, ca un copil ce ascultă o poveste înainte de culcare. Narațiunea bogată în moarte, dominare, supunere, multiculturalism, dorință, distrugere, gelozie, erotism (pe rând materializat și platonic), confuzie și fantastic ne dezvăluie magicul unei lumi în continuă schimbare. Cei trei piloni care susțin întreaga istorie sunt fotografia, muzica și cutremurul, iar personajele (efecte nefaste ale trecutului, fantome ce bântuie agresiv fiecare pagină) sunt experimentele unei culturi și integrarea acestora în globalizare.
October 4, 2018
Uit!
Het was even wennen in het begin en verder hard werken. Sommige stukken/delen/hoofdstukken vond ik saai en langdradig, terwijl ik bij andere passages moest lachen ('ik zie geen melkbaar verschil'), erover na moest denken ('de inhoud van een boek is er, of je het leest of niet. Zelfs als niemand het ooit leest, is het er, doet het zijn werk'). Over het geheel genomen vond ik het boek ok, maar ik kon het macroniveau het meest waarderen: de referenties naar Franse literatuur, de gedachten over fotografie en literatuur, en de (soms) prachtige, grappige en/of inspirerende zinnen.
Goed, nu ga ik iets luchtigs lezen.
Het was even wennen in het begin en verder hard werken. Sommige stukken/delen/hoofdstukken vond ik saai en langdradig, terwijl ik bij andere passages moest lachen ('ik zie geen melkbaar verschil'), erover na moest denken ('de inhoud van een boek is er, of je het leest of niet. Zelfs als niemand het ooit leest, is het er, doet het zijn werk'). Over het geheel genomen vond ik het boek ok, maar ik kon het macroniveau het meest waarderen: de referenties naar Franse literatuur, de gedachten over fotografie en literatuur, en de (soms) prachtige, grappige en/of inspirerende zinnen.
Goed, nu ga ik iets luchtigs lezen.
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