Florid, drenched in cultural and religious allusion (and, for that matter, heresy), and effortlessly winding Indian and British culture with all the winks and nods the winding of those cultures implies, The Satanic Verses is very plainly an entry from the Literati for the Literati, a read enjoyable on the surface but that will also reveal the literate equivalent of Easter Eggs for those with the patience. In all of these senses the novel is technically brilliant - the writing truly dazzles and begs the same questions of "how'd'e'do'dat?" oft asked of parlor magicians and Faneuil Hall clowns. This is not meant as a criticism, though the word "florid" often implies such a tricky-writing-for-its-own-sake snide; rather it is to plainly state that Rushdie is a writer with a effortlessly lyrical pen in his holster; a talented man and a joy to read.
The plot, the novel itself being entrenched in the postmodern super-referential and "please deconstruct me" tradition, is naturally interwoven and complex. Rather than synopsize, I will just point out major elements - two Indian actors miraculously survive a plane explosion over the English channel, undergo a capital F "Fall," and one comes out an angel, the other a devil. The angel dreams visions of the Angel Gabriel, and therein lies the controversy of the novel - his dreams conjure up, among other things, a retelling of the Mohammed narrative in which the prophet is tricked into revealing lines from Satan as lines from God, parts of the Q'uran are said to not truly be the prophet's words, and Mohammed himself is suggested to be disingenuous with his motivations and his moral character - the kinds of trite details that get bounties put on your head. These questionably paranoid schizophrenic dreams pace the novel as the two characters clash their way through London - the Angel starting at cinematic heights and crashing down into his religion-fueled insanity, the Devil rescuing himself from teh depths via, of all things, anger, and despite his vengeful attempts against the Angel being rescued by that very Angel's crazed love. The devil character himself is involved in a life long struggle regarding his flight from India to England, his estrangement from his homeland and his family (particularly his father). All of this narrated, natch, by Satan himself. Fantastical themes and magical realism resonate throughout, from the bizarre transformations of characters, their waking dreams/hallucinations to the butterflies and fire breathing trumpets that show up later on.
As alluded to, the plot is entangled and near-impossible to lay down quickly; here's a valid attempt and here's a Study Guide that demonstrates the endeavor required to unearth every inch of this novel's meaning and its plot. The simplest sum up is that the novel is a multi-faceted attack on mindless adherence to tradition and furthermore, a criticism on the various ways that people attempt to resolve the inevitable clash of tradition and change. Metamorphosis and its own struggles are clearly demonstrated here, as literally as the men changing forms and as figuratively as Indians in London who alter their landscape and English-bred Indians in India and their interactions with it. The quote that is repeated throughout the book is "What kind of idea are you?" followed by a two part question, essentially one, are you the kind of idea that bows quietly in submission (note that "Islam" literally means "submission") or the kind that begs action and begets change? and two, once you have effected that change, how do you treat those who have succombed to your change? The novel, also in keeping with its fractured postmodern telling, does not answer these questions but merely posits them, with a resolution at the end that speaks of both disaster and a return to starting points. That may sound vague in its attempt to not give away the novel's conclusion, but the message given is that the very cahnge that screams through the novel is not going to give easy, forseeable answers.
This novel also, outside of just its complexity, alienates on purpose - London, Westerners, in short "whitey" all sit in the background here as we particularly view the Indian in India or England as specifically viewed by the Indians in question. Not shocking, and I'm sure that's a big message of all post colonial work to come out of India, but just to note that the complexity and constant Hindi / Urdu references in the book are a further pointed effort to alienate native English speaking readers. Violent change is definitely a large feature of this novel, as well as insistent non-submission - the immigrant as a force of change, or jsut the Indian citizen as a force of change in his/her own culture, rings throughout. What kind of Idea are you is a challenge - to not sit still, not take your surroundings sitting down and not, even, to take your own sudden transformation into a goat person sitting down; to get angry, rebel. Immigrants shape their new cultures and their old ones; they don't just face into its backgrounds. And I can safely say that Rushdie views this as a positive.
To read this novel without constant thought of the hoopla and deaths that surrounded it is impossible. Charges are made that Rushdie himself, or the publishing companies, orchestrated the controversy, making the entire endeavor seem a disingenuous effort at increasing book sales. I find it ridiculous to believe that, but I also find it ludicrous to believe that Rushdie et al had no idea of the response such inflammatory, heretical content would surely bring. On top of that, I found one of the dream sequences - the long Haj of Ayesha & the butterflies - to be very drawn out and boring. Haj-es probably are very long and drawn out and boring, fair enough, but given the other liberties taken with reality, some of the repetition could have been dropped. ALl of that points to questions of why include it in the book, other than for the sake of being inflammatory? I think it's tie-in to refusing to submit, along with its representation of even the most authoritative, most etched in stones concepts of culture being subject to change is important, and having the message delivered with such sledgehammer subtlety is important because it *really* begs the questions on change, challenging even hallowed beliefs to stand up to scrutiny. Surely Rushdie knew what he was getting into, but that loud and clear message on dynamic life was largely the point, and farbeit from me or really anyone to tell him to silence himself for the sake of irrational reactions, even if he could have predicted those reactions to occur.
In sum, a great novel with faults told with some brilliantly talented writing - it's florid, dreamlike, and jumps around the avenues of everything like an honest postmodern novel should.
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