midnight

Well, well, well… if it isn’t my neglected blog. I did mean to write something sometime ago (I think) but I guess that time passed and the words got lost somewhere.

But I just finished reading Salman Rushdie’s Midnight’s Children, so that means it’s time to blog again. It seems unavoidable: if a book is finished, a blog post must emerge. If nothing else, this space will still have its scattering of book reviews (but not really reviews — more just a record of various thoughts on various books).

On the back cover of my copy of Midnight’s Children there are a number of excerpts from real reviews in real publications. One critic likens the magic of the novel to the wonders of One Hundred Years of Solitude. Another praises the story as being a Bombay version of The World According to Garp. Being a big fan of both of these works, it would have been hugely surprising and disappointing if I wasn’t also captivated by Midnight’s Children. 

And it definitely didn’t disappoint. 

The thing I was most impressed about was how Rushdie constructed an India that was so full of logic-defying magic and wonder, yet felt so real and believable. The events of the novel follow the history of India — the life of the protagonist unfolds in parallel, but also intertwines with, significant national events. There are historically significant dates, people and events mentioned throughout, so everything feels very grounded in history and hence in reality.

Yet although I thoroughly enjoyed reading Midnight’s Children, the thing that was puzzling to me was the lack of so-called “book hangover” at the end of it. Books of this level of amazement and mind-blowing wow-factor (just like One Hundred Years of Solitude and The World According to Garp) tend to linger in my mind for a long time after I finish reading them. 

I’m not sure if it’s because I’ve been too busy to let my mind dwell on Midnight’s Children or if I just took too long to finish reading it (so all of the lingering had already been done and dissipated as I read each chapter) but the book hangover just didn’t happen. My other theory is that it’s a sign of maturity and growth — like a literary equivalent of developing alcohol tolerance, or maybe like developing higher chilli/spice tolerance (appreciating the flavour without being crippled by pain). But I don’t like this theory much.

Either way, it doesn’t detract from my opinion of the book. I just don’t have a whole lot to say about it other than I thoroughly enjoyed it, never read anything quite like it, and would highly recommended it to anyone who enjoys learning about history in an interesting way.

Well, I’ll leave this here. I’ve been watching a few Japanese Film Festival movies lately, so have been thinking about blogging about some of these, but not sure if these thoughts will make it to paper (or screen?) Otherwise I guess I’ll be back once I finish the next book.