Amitava Kumar is currently at Vassar College, and Salman Rushdie was recently scheduled to be a guest speaker. Amitava, as an accomplished critic and essayist, was suggested by the college to introduce Rushdie, but Rushdie vetoed it [see update below]:
Salman Rushdie came to Vassar College earlier this week to deliver a lecture for the Class of 2010–but he made it clear to the organizers that he would cancel if I was involved in his visit. I had earlier been asked to introduce him, and then, well, I was disinvited. Mr Rushdie and I have never met, although I have heard him speak several times. I presume his dislike of me has to do with essays like these that I have written about him in the past. (link)
The essay Amitava links to is a long, partly sunny and partly sour critique of Rushdie, ending with a review of Shalimar the Clown. I think Amitava’s best criticism is probably the following:
The trouble is that despite all his invention and exuberance Rushdie remains to a remarkable extent an academic writer. He is academic in that abstractions rule over his narratives. They determine the outlines of his characters, their faces, and their voices. Rushdie is also academic in the sense that his rebellions and his critiques are all securely progressive ones, advancing the causes that the intelligentsia, especially the left-liberal Western intelligentsia, holds close to its breast. This is not a bad thing, but it should qualify one’s admiration for Rushdie’s daring.(link)
It’s true, many of Rushdie’s best, most memorable lines are actually socio-historical commentaries, or nuggets of cultural criticism that could very well come from a professor (though they wouldn’t sound as nice). Of course, Rushdie isn’t alone in this, and it might be unfair to be overly harsh about academicism, since academic ideas about the fragmentation of the self and problems of nationhood and nationalism have been widely and generally influential. Lots of novelists these days are discussing issues that are also being discussed at academic conferences. (Indeed, more than a few well-known novelists are themselves academics, to pay the bills — writing don’t pay that well.)
But one can contrast Rushdie’s nuggets of cultural criticism (which are especially prevalent in his later fiction) with deeply felt characterization or a personal, human touch. Vikram Seth, who is sometimes named as a protege of Rushdie, has perhaps gone beyond him, both in A Suitable Boy, and in the marvelous personal memoir Two Lives (a much riskier thing to write and publish than a topical novel like Shalimar). Rushdie is still pretty much Mr. Postcolonial, but is he necessarily Mr. Indian Literature? (Are there term-limits?)
Despite the criticisms, no one can take away from what Rushdie has accomplished as a writer and as a principled public figure over the years, and Amitava acknowledges this at points in his essay as well as in the introduction he had planned to give:
I guess I would be speaking for a lot of readers, particularly in those parts of the planet that used to be called the Third World, who saw Mr Rushdie as having fought and won against, and made an ally of, the English language, the alien language that had come to us with our colonial rulers. Mr Rushdie has had to fight many other battles since; he has made many friends and enemies; and we (IÂ’m speaking as an Indian here) we, as his readers and as writers, have followed his actions, his songs, his mannerisms, and even when we have chosen not to follow him into the sunset, weÂ’ve always had to define ourselves, and our rebellions, against this image we have had of him, looking down at us from giant billboards at each street-corner of our past. (link)
Perhaps a bit passive aggressive? At any rate, nicely put.
[Update: it appears that Rushdie himself has shown up in the comments to Amitava’s post. In it, he indicates that it was the organizer’s decision to disinvite Amitava, but he affirms that he “refused to share a stage” with him.]
ItÂ’s true, many of RushdieÂ’s best, most memorable lines are actually socio-historical commentaries, or nuggets of cultural criticism that could very well come from a professor. That is a very interesting observation, Amardeep. One of my most favorite lines from Salman Rushdie is “Bangladesh is a palimpsest.”
Why are you comparing a non-fiction book to a novel? Comparing Shalimar and Two Lives is a bit silly. Their missions and techniques are different.
I’m comparing the directions of their respective careers, not so much the individual books. I think Seth has “kept it real,” while Rushdie’s storytelling has drifted.
And a work of writing doesn’t have to be bound by its genre. A literary memoir, a work of creative nonfiction, and a novel can all have a lot in common. An emphasis on telling stories, and an imaginative use of language, are what make a work “literary.”
The good Mr. Rushdie has responded to Amitava’s post.
I think Mr. Kumar’s criticisms of Rushdie’s writing are absolutely fair. At the same time, I can understand why a keynote speaker would not want to be introduced by a sometimes strong critic (would Dubya stand for Maureen Dowd introducing him at an event?). It surprises me that this tiff has gone public. I do think there is a shortcoming of professionalism on both sides.
Sriram, good point on professionalism, but Amitava’s criticism of Rushdie’s work is hardly comparable to Dowd’s criticism of Bush. Constructive and considered critique is standard in literature; books are reviewed by other book authors, and teachers like Amitava or our own Amardeep are charged in part with teaching students how to criticize. As you said, Amitava’s criticisms are absolutely fair, reasonably argued, and respectful.
Rushdie’s response on Amitava’s blog — that he never canceled the event, but simply refused to “share a stage” (his words) with Amitava — is utterly petty, not to mention narcissistic. What a disappointment.
Kumar says:
Rushdie says:
Sounds like a distinction without a difference. Rushdie looks like an ass.
I havent read Rushdie post-his-coming-to-America but the old Rushdie (of Midnight’s Children, Shame, Satanic Verses and Moor’s Last Sigh) was more post-structural than liberal. His new books are undeniably liberal western stuff, but that’s not ALL there is to Rushdie.
Alas, it’s hard to have so much fond adoration for a man’s work, but not the man himself. It’s like loving the sin and hating the sinner.
“Rushdie is also academic in the sense that his rebellions and his critiques are all securely progressive ones, advancing the causes that the intelligentsia, especially the left-liberal Western intelligentsia, holds close to its breast.”
substitute — for rushdie and indian for western, and couldn’t that also be said of many india-based writers, especially some of those writing in english? i read pankaj mishra’s rejoinder to martin amis. while i agreed with some of what he pointed out, the funny thing is i felt that a lot of that criticism could apply to indian writers like mishra as well when they write about indian issues.
Rushdie sez: “[Y]ou claim that I threatened to cancel my visit to Vassar if you were involved with it. This is inaccurate. At no time did I threaten anything of the sort. I did indeed tell the organizer, Joanne Long, that I was unwilling to share a stage with you.”
pied piper translation: “Professor Kumar, you forgot Poland“….. A pathetic response perhaps worthy of “Fury.”
It is funny. Do people who comment here know Amitava kumar personally??.. It looks like Amitava Kumar was incorrect in blaming Rushdie for not caring about 1984 Sikh massacres and Rushdie responded with his side of the story.. I find nothing wrong with it..
I think I’m going to take the opposite stance from many of the people expressing their outrage over Rushdie’s “refusal” (whether to cancel or share a stage is fairly irrelevant, I’ll grant you that).
Rushdie is, first and foremost, a human being. We often tend to expect more of those we admire, even if they hold no position other than artist. But would any one of you want to be introduced at an event you were invited to by someone who was a harsh voice of criticism in your past? Someone whose words were hit home somehow, someone whose words (whether rightly or wrongly, who can be the judge of that?) felt personal?
I suspect that, given some time to reflect and let passions subside, Mr. Rushdie might even be able to admit that Amitava Kumar has been civil in his criticism, and that he might have been able to trust Kumar not to portray him as an ass. But clearly, this is personal. As we here at SM know, the power of the written word can sometimes hold sway far beyond the intent of the writer, and convey intonations and meaning that might never have existed in the mind of the nerd at the keyboard. Is it any wonder that someone speaking about your works (“works!” My emotional connection to my own writing frequently feels analogous to what I’d feel for my children, if I had any I knew about…hardly like how I feel about “work”) could be taken the wrong way?
I think Rushdie’s well within his rights to refuse to share a stage with Kumar. I also think he should have gone ahead and allowed that introduction anyway, for no other reason than because it would just be more interesting that way. Sriram’s got it right: Bush would never deign to allow Maureen Dowd to introduce him, but if he ever did, you can rest assured that the introduction would be…very…carefully…thought out. And probably also be very…very…true.
If it’s one thing that Rushdie and Kumar both have in common, it is that they struggle to tell the truth. That should be enough common ground for an introduction to a speech at Vassar, in my not-particularly-humble opinion.
Artists and critics exist in a symbiotic relationship. For an artist to reject what is fair and moderate criticism, and even more unusual, to reject a fair and moderate critic, is not common.
It would be sort of like Bill Gates saying that he didn’t want to be in the same room as Steve Jobs because they were competitors. Or movie actors saying that they didn’t want others to be near them because they compete for the same parts. I know that I just switched from symbiosis above to competition below, but I’m trying to give a gut level feeling for why Rushdie’s response refusal to share a stage / threat to cancel the event has the significance that it does.
Actors, athletes, businessmen compete. That’s what they do. They don’t make it personal outside of appropriate settings, as long as the behavior stays within certain bounds. Similarly, artists and critics snipe at each other, but they also coinhabit the same spaces. It presents Rushdie as being thin skinned.
Damn, Ennis, why you always gotta be on my ass like that? Huh? Confound you! Goddamit, I am never allowing you to introduce me when I’m all famous and shit.
I don’t think any grave injustice has been committed in this case. Rushdie is within his rights to say no to Amitava (and yes, a few of us here do know Amitava personally), though he runs the risk of coming off as thin-skinned.
Actually, I think this incident is interesting because it shows lines in the process of being drawn, and a generational shift in progress.
all this, ultimately, is a great testament to this glorious neo-literary medium called the blog. this is what blogs are for — and i can now almost see hear him say, “that damm vassar professor…” to padma while slipping under the sheets after clicking the send button, post midnight.
Hey–blame the PMS (I teared up when I heard the Fugees do No Woman No Cry this a.m.) but what Amardeep said (“Actually, I think this incident is interesting because it shows lines in the process of being drawn, and a generational shift in progress.”) makes me very sad, because iÂ’ve always thought that South Asian writers (novelists especially, not so much famous poets) have been extremely comradely and supportive of each other. When I think of all the books Kiran Desai! Zadie Smith! iÂ’ve acquired on Mr. RushdieÂ’s recommendationÂ…
Ah, well… time to cue Amitava Kumar’s poem “Against Nostalgia,” and riff on these lines in particular:
(&^%$# line breaks!)
They will not come back.
The minute before Salman Rushdie
learned that there was a fatwa on his head.
The minute after
he had heard
that he was the winner of the Booker Prize.
Why do Indian critics feel their job is not to crtique the work but through it to get personal and nasty with other Indian writers who have become famous?
I would like to know if Amitav Kumar has critiqued non_Indian writers, other American writers, in the same manner.
unhuhnn! and a chakk dey phattey to you too bro’
yaar! you guys are too intense. ahh just read stuff to kill tay-me.
After reading Amitava’s entire essay, I found it very cogent, and where attacks on Rushdie’s biases were made, the attacks were merited. I don’t think amardeep quite captured the essence of the entire essay with his quotes.
The essence of her essay was, in part, to point out that Rushdie, the writer, and his creations, as morsels of ideas for readers to chew on, have reshaped the English landscape for Indians from what was primarily a medium for stolid official use into something one could have fun in, bathe in, and otherwise be free in. The other essential part to the essay was in reminding that Rushdie, the man, and his creations, as political insight, are lacking.
Rushdie, the man, is lacking in his ability to remain mortal. He seems fond of transcending into protagonists, making his opposition seem foolish, and of suddenly mustering a spine to improve democracy in India only when distribution of his novel is stemmed. Rusdhie’s supporters are also guilty of aiding this deification process when they covet his creations as being implicitly infallible instead of admiring the prose or mulling the ideas with intrigue.
Rushdie’s creations, as political insight, are lacking in realism because they persistently try to use characters in very Indian scenarios who nonetheless behave as only an expatriate would expect them to. Some of the haziness in realism is attributable to how his narratives frequently revert to an academic tone, or to how abstract thoughts dominate the visual, aural, and other sensory details of the scene being portrayed. Yet, there is still an indelibly fictional quality that will always remain owing to what Rusdie, the man, lacks.
This, I believe, better captures the essence of Amitava’s firebrand essay.
sic semper tyrannis:
“his.” Amitava Kumar is male.
This is why I love Amitavaji. Quite possibly utterly unfair, but it makes you pause, stop in your tracks and rethink Rushdie. applause It’s unfortunate that it evoked such pettiness from Rushdie.
Ahem. Heh. What a weird fantasy.
Truthfully, Rushdie knows his critics, and sometimes his candor and humor are disarming. He IS a human being; I don’t judge him on his moments of weakness. I am no fawning fanboy; I enjoy his literature and admire his facility with the English language. The worst of his works are still engaging. Do I think he reacted poorly to the Amitava Kumar situation? Certainly. But was he within rights? Absolutely.
And I’m also totally smitten with the way criticism, writers, blogging, and commentary have all come together on this one. It’s bizarre and fascinating to see a comment by Rushdie himself on Amitava’s blog. He’s mucking about in the gutters with the rest of us morons and riffraff. It’s also oddly humbling and edifying at the same time: he’s real, he’s not just some kind of deity word processor who lives on a mountain and hurls down the occasional literary thunderbolt. He dislikes some people, he likes some other people. Yeah, his ego may have gotten out of control, but that’s our fault for giving him too many goddamn critical BJ’s.
Look, we all think we would never act like that if we were famous. But we ourselves do it all the time when our critics (or Kritics) pipe up. What’s the difference? I’m not justifying anything, but it would be nice if everyone held themselves to the same standard they hold the famous people to. Likewise, it would be nice if the famous people sometimes remembered to have a bit of humility when they’re speaking up in public. That’s all.
hmm. I’ll claim upfront the inability to critique the critique. But his splitting hair seems too petty. Sure it is who that person says he is?
Now I have found some of Rushdie’s work to be a good read. But I lost respect for him after reading his back-handed writeup on Gandhi in Time 100 around 2000. Since then I’ve come to perceive him as a sly cat who knows how to thrive by talking like the west about non-western topics, only with the additional authority.
The writeups for each of the personalities in Time 100 exist to elucidate why that person is on the list, what is his/her significance. Read MLK’s for example. Then read Gandhi’s. By the time you’re done, you’ll be wondering if MKG wasn’t a sexually deviant, deranged nut fit for a mental institution, and that it must be the Indians’ native pride or blind obsequience to believe he was worth anything in the independence struggle. Not saying the incidences rushdie mentions are untrue, rather they do not establish a reason why Gandhi matters, mattered, or is in the list. Seems like the writer believes in some native thrashing to get street cred with the western press and readers.
But Amardeep, don’t you think that could be a difference in style too? Magic realist writing with a scope as big as Rushdie’s has it’s place, along with quieter writing.
I dunno I’ve learnt to deal with my Rushdie-itis. All great writers have their flaws, and I guess a sign of their greatness are the complexes they create, the angsty poetry they inspire, and the fact that, at the end of the day, they are just so freakin’ talented.
I could see Amitava’s point but that poem is just ridiculous. Have a family friend who even wrote an open letter to Mr Rushdie and called him the ‘Holy Cow of Indian Literature.’
If he’s been made into some kind of literary giant celebrity then part of that is the mainstream western press and their constant tokenisation of minority groups. Hell, Tyra’s still bitching about how Naomi got to be the only black supermodel, so I understand people’s annoyance with Rushdie and his shadow. But I think that ol’ sayin’ still rings true – don’t hate the playa, hate the game 🙂
I mean honestly, the poem! I’m sorry but it’s just so… I mean what if Kiran Desai went all ‘Mamma, your style’s it’s so subtle and clipped/ 3 Booker noms when I publish I’m gonna get whipped…’ or something that’s just so… Jeez. Make yourself a nice cup of tea and remember, there’s always a niche for everyone.
I think magic realism and a wide scope are two separate things. Other writers, who don’t use the style and who aren’t quite as hyper, also tell big, encompassing stories (see Amitav Ghosh’s “The Glass Palace,” for instance). This is the novel as an alternative vehicle for thinking about history and its traumas, and I agree that it’s incredibly valuable.
Magic realism, on the other hand, has come to seem a bit like a gimmick. Amitava asks Rushdie to consider telling a story “straight,” and I would second the request. Why invent characters that are infinitely bigger than life when you have any number of real people you could work with? Why so much dependence on fantastical coincidences and zippy metaphors?
Salman Rushdie is a modestly-talented blowhard hack.
His style is not the problem. His project,as far as I can tell, isn’t all that different from Gabriel Garcia-Marquez’s. Magic realism can be done very well. But the difference in their storytelling is night and day. Bollywood is the exactly correct analogy for Rushdie: he’s all flash and dance and production values. But good literature comes from a deeper place. Garcia-Marquez drew from deeper wells, the poetry of Neruda, the example of Borges. That’s why one weeps when reading “Love in the Time of Cholera.” To stretch a metaphor, it is an Aparajito to Rushdie’s Khabi Khushi Khabie Gham.
I saw Rushdie read from “Shalimar the Clown” last year. Pure theater. No obvious pun or parallel goes unexplored in his narrative. The language has an eerie similarity to that of the CSI script-writers: madcap, “entertaining,” hip, fluffy, soulless. You come away loving neither the story, nor the characters, nor the preening vacant author.
Rushdie’s bristling at just criticism is exactly what one respects from the shallow writer that he is. And while he’s still a bold advocate for writers’ freedoms (through his “unfunny valentine” experience with the mullahs, and through his good work as president of the International PEN organization), he’s long ceased to be the place one goes to for literary refreshment. All he does now is create product, the very opposite of good literature.
And that is the source of his pain. He is all too aware that he is famous, talked-about (as we are doing here) lionized, and, for all that, not particularly deep. No amount of sleeping with supermodels or hanging out with rockstars can compensate for that lack. It’s cavernous and it must be infuriating for him.
It’s like the Amadeus script flipped, and this over-hyped Salieri is on center-stage in place of the many true Mozarts (like Upamanyu Chatterjee) who continue to labor in relative obscurity.
Tashie, no, no, no, no, no!!!
ItÂ’s probably my fault for quoting Amitava Kumar baldly and badly out of context. Admittedly, there isnÂ’t much artifice in AKÂ’s poetry, so at first it might seem a bit like re-cycled prose–but his lines are always vibrant with the kind of gritty history that is usually rejected. Plus he scans well. HeÂ’s really, really worth a second chance / a serious look, before you dismiss him.
You are, of course, completely right about Salman Rushdie– he deserves every accolade thatÂ’s flung at him. And in person, he always seems really grounded and charming in that clubby, self-deprecatory way. And, of course, so immensely talented.
ItÂ’s awkward that writers like AK and Pankaj Mishra are accused of gaining notoriety merely from “trashing” Salman Rushdie when they are talented writers in their own right–with markedly different literary styles, unelitist cultural backgrounds, and a higher level of political involvement.
And i find myself unable to take sides.
And iÂ’m not going to. You see, i have a few “best friends” who canÂ’t stand each other–so iÂ’m already primed to enjoy company i value separately instead of in one big, sociable clusterfuck.
Here’s a question – would we value Rushdie’s writing as much if he hadn’t been the target of the fatwa? Would he now be a faded writer rather than a struggling genius?
Ouch, Mr. Kobayashi. OW, OW, OUCH.
Yeah, I know Maya. But what can I do. He’s being a right c*nt.
damn, you mean there has been more than one!
This reminds me of Rushdie’s interesting introduction to and engaging conversation with Amartya Sen at the Pen festival. Rushdie was probing and challenging Sen – there was always more than a hint of iconoclasm and Rushdie was not always above easy and audibly popular digs at liberals and multi-culturalism. But in spite of their disagreements, the tone was consistently respectful and it was all in good humor. This situation is not exactly a parallel, but after reading Amitava’s essay, I have no reason to think that he would have been any less respectful and courteous in person. I wish Rushdie was more gracious and thick-skinned.
Writers aren’t always the best critics, and I wonder why Time magazine and the New York Times don’t recognize this. I read Panka Mishra’s articles on economic issues in India (for instance, this one)and I wince. Pankaj Mishra just doesn’t have the broad knowledge of Indian economic issues so important to be a good commentator on the Indian economy. I wonder why a professor of economics could not be asked to do such an article. With Salman Rushdie, I think it is the reverse problem. His criticisms can be too academic. After reading his comments on the movie “Gandhi” in the Time 100 article, I wondered if we both saw the same movie.
OUCH! KA-POW! DAMN! Don’t mess with Mr K!
In my opinion, and, I should know, Amitava is jealous, nay, he is consumed with envy. Not of Salman’s talent, but of Salman’s fame and fortune. Not to mention, of Salman’s wife, that hot piece of brown candy. If I were Amitava, I would buy me a fatwa.
Hear ye, hear ye – Let this be a lesson to all of ye. Ye, who even contemplateth turning right. Ye, shall be set upon by the hounds of hades. Scorn and invective shall be poured on thee.And, worse of all, Ko-boy-ashi shall be unleashed on thy ass.
Amitava, you have gotten away lightly seeing this little episode
Amusing that AK, SR and others whould be talking about post-colonialism when they haven’t the slightest idea of the straitjacket they are bound up in. Incapable of thinking (leave alone speaking or writing) in any Indian language, ignorant of its literary traditions and absolutely clueless about the Western classics, these hacks are asked to pronounce literary judgements on India and its creative products? And we the ignorati grinningly nod our heads in approval? This attitude shows up in some bizarre ways. A few months ago when the publishers and book clubs of Madras hosted Vikram Seth not a single Tamizh writer was invited. As Jayakanthan replied, “Why do I ask me if I have read Sartre. Have you read my works?”
One more step towards the decline of Indian languages.
…and here we go again…
shiva, a link for you..the cult of authenticity
Shiva, I agree with you. Except that the people you name probably ARE well-versed with the Western classics.
Dingchak, the following is from the link you provide:
Now, it’s understandable that he deplores the rise of the BJP, Hindutva, etc…I agree with that 100%…but why be upset that people watched Ramayan/Mahabharat on television? Aren’t those epics part of their cultural/religious heritage? And why does he seem to be blaming the bomb blasts in Mumbai solely on the rising tide of Hindutva? Aren’t Muslim terrorists to blame in very large part? To me he loses a lot of credibility with statements like that.
Many comments –
Amitabh: Why is English any less of an “Indian” language than any of the vernaculars. As a Tamilian who grew up in Delhi, English is really the way that I engage with India, representative of its modernity and truly the only language beyond regionalism. For me, Indian English is emblembatic of independent India, of Nehru, of Vishvewswarya, of of Sunil Gavaskar, and yes, of Rushdia. Indeed, of everything else that Indian can look forward to.
On the other hand, I completely agree with your comments re: Vikram Chandra. His prejudices mar an otherwise fine essay.
Shiva: Vikram Seth is a great Indian writer. Just because the event was in Madras does not mean that mediocrities like Jayakanthan (or pretty much anyone on the Tamil literary scene today) should have a prominent role.
General: I am not sure which is sadder: (i) that Mr. Rushdie cares or (ii) that Mr. Kumar cares that Mr. Rushdie cares.
I think Hari sums it up perfectly. I don’t quite see it as a literary spat as much as a genteel version of a high-school playground brawl. Or worse, behaviour that is perhaps best showcased in the movie Mean Girls.
RE: Hari (#45) & DDiA (#46)
teeheehee yeah, i kinda agree …but i also understand that, for comp. lit peepz, this is like watching roald hoffmann get into a fight with one of the lowly un-Nobel laureate professors at the institution he teaches at…not that it would significantly change the contribution to chemistry which hoffmann continues to make if the two were in a tiff, but it’s hella fun to gossip over and interpret.
regardless… RE: Amardeep (#16)
i like your interpretation — especially how it reflects the shift in direction of writers of south asian/diasporic lit, and it has so many implications for the field of comparative lit (and all those other related & silly non-physical science fields :P) in the criticism of south asian/diasporic lit. but why the shift now? is the diaspora somehow more aware of the betrayal of “magical realist resolutions” that we want more of “actual realities of real people”? have we shunned bollywood or something here?!
for so long, as kumar states, “[…] Rushdie has laid claims on public memory.” as such, he has weilded the power to construct at his whim the south asian identity, and as a counterposition, the south asian expatriate identity. i agree with kumar that today he seems formulaic — especially when compared to new writers on the block. however, i don’t think that rushdie is consciously being academic.
it is just his style to be nostalgic, and after all, kumar mentions that rushdie may fail to represent today but is still yet an aspect of south asian identity/lit/etc. by saying this: “Today, it is impossible to read any new work of Rushdie without also bringing into the discussion the new works by those who are patronizingly regarded as his literary offspring.”
i can see why salman rushdie feels outdated and stifled by kumar’s criticism. i mean, kumar even says that “one way to [reclaim what he has lost] is to introduce his own creations into the momentous flux of the past.” (not to mention this: “I remember the dust falling off a lamp-shade hanging from the ceiling when struck by Rushdie’s prematurely balding head.”) could it be that this is where the generational shift lies: rushdie’s style of writing no longer is able to represent the diasporic south asian identity in as heterogeneous a form as we would like?
i mean…am i supposed to just blame heightened global awareness of identity politics post-9/11 to explain this generational shift in progress, or should i just forget about the shift and go do my physical chemistry homework tonight because i might not know what i’m talking about completely… :)?
anyway, i tried…peace to the middle east.
Rushdie doesn’t come off very well here, but let’s face it Kumar is a self-important, self-promoting twit, and this whole incident is more grist to his self-important, self-promoting mill. Look at the essay he references in his blog post. Does he actually think that puff pieces on Rushdie or any other writer in Indian magazines are the basis on which to judge Rushdie’s reception? He responds archly to the piece he quotes at the beginning:
“Ah, the tell-tale clubbing together of fundamentalists and critics in that last line!
Sorry, but you have to slow down and reconsider many of the assumptions, parochial and also stupid, that lie behind the rationales offered for celebrating this writer. By now, Rushdie has been writing for twenty-five years and by any yardstick, he is a writer of major significance. Of course. But you do not do his writing any service by repeatedly mistaking celebrity for critical and aesthetic breakthroughs. Nor do you advance the discussions around reading or writing in your culture as a whole by being complacent about the ways in which a writer is received or reviled. “
Yes, Professor Kumar, but how do you account for the overwhelming critical acclaim that Rushdie has received from academic critics from your own profession? Many of them Indian, and very few of them stupid.
“Look at the essay he references in his blog post. Does he actually think that puff pieces on Rushdie or any other writer in Indian magazines are the basis on which to judge Rushdie’s reception?”
I meant to add that this is a bit like chiding People magazine for selecting “Titanic” or something as best movie ever. There is no serious discourse of literature in major English language weeklies in India. “Critics” in these magazines are as apt to champion a minor talent (that Shangvi disaster, say) as a major one (Rushdie). We can certainly revile this culture of literary celebrity (especially when earned in phoren) but this is hardly the be-all and end-all of Rushdie’s critical reception. It is, however, a convenient way to approach it since these magazine critics make such hapless and comical targets.
And no, I’m not much of a Rushdie fan myself.
Gabber, you’re a self-important twit yourself. You want Kumar not to critique Rushdie because of “the overwhelming critical acclaim that Rushdie has received from academic critics.” OH, ok. Some people like him, therefore everyone must like him.
Twit.