Shalimar the Clown by Salman Rushdie

I am a tad biased when it comes to Salman Rushdie. He just happens to be one of my favourite writers of all time. The way the man can carve up language to create a new hybrid that is not quite English and not quite anything else is ucanny. And the amazing thing is that it makes perfect sense, as if you were born with some sort of prenatal understanding of the Rushdian dialect. But that's about the auhor's style in general. This, his latest book is a bit of a conundrum. It almost feels like it was written by two diferent people. The novel is very much driven by characters that are complex and engaging, but at the same time almost allegorical. So when Max Ophuls, the famed ambassador conquers Boonyi Kaul, the Kashmiri dancer, it is at the same time the invasion of Kashmir by Indian and foreign forces. The problem for me lies mainly in the character of India, the daughter of the aforementioned couple. She is the focalizer of the first chapter of the book, and unlike all the other characters we encounter in the later chapters, she is simply not alive. But then again, she is American. Whereas the European and Indian heritages and cultures are fine tuned instruments in Rushdies hands as he creates his wonderful symphony, the American here seems to elude him. India (the girl, not the country) is not convincing and she lacks the magic that brings the other characters to life. One begins to wonder if perhaps Rushdie has finally lost it. The fact that the book opens on such a flat note may stop many readers from continuing onward, but please do. Once Rushdie's narrative moves to Kashmir, the novel finally finds its spark and keeps it kindled all the way through. The relationship between Boonyi Kaul and Shalimar the clown that is the driving force of this novel is simply unique and fascinating and it turns the devastation of the beautiful paradise that was Kashmir into a personal grief for any reader.