There are few living writers that gain immediate recognition as true artists in their time, along side Pynchon, DeLillo, and perhaps Vonnegut, is Salman Rushdie. Before The Satanic Verses and before the fatwa there was Grimus.
The first impression of this book, gleaned from the initial 50 or so pages is that we are face to face with an unrefined Rushdie. His penchant for dabbling in mythology, spirituality, canonical literal echoes, and Joycean word play are on full display. Being his first book, I was surprised that someone would pick up such chaotic prose as an author's debut. But trusting the author, I stuck it out. I'm glad I did.
Our protagonist, Flapping Eaglewho also goes by the names Born-From-Dead and Joe-Sue in the first handful of pagesessentially has been given the "gift" of eternal life. Staying the same age for hundreds of years, Flapping Eagle decides he no longer wants to live, but to finally die a mortal's death. He has to go to Calf Island and ascend Calf Mountain to meet Grimus, much like a mythological Wizard of Oz. That's the premise.
Along the way, Flapping Eagle befriends Virgil Jones and his lady, Dolores O'Toole. The disfigured couple are the first clue that something is dreadfully wrong on Calf Island. Jones the obese is with O'Toole the humpback. The two really are remarkable and Rushdie gets lots of mileage from the two, creating a sympathy for them that never ventures into pity.
A host of characters and themes are introduced, mythology has served Rushdie well and one gets the impression that Joseph Campbell would have enjoyed the playfulness and overlapping of Native American and Asian-Indian concepts. As we grip this overlap, Rushdie sends Flapping Eagle to find Grimus with Virgil Jones as his guide, echoing Danté.
Details quickly pile up and the writing veers in unforeseen directions. Any balance that we grasped in the first chapter is taken away in the second. The only thing that kept me reading was trust in the author. Lost as I was, I knew I was being taken on a voyage by a master, who, in his first novel, was clearly establishing himself as a master.
As obtuse as the second chapter was, then, the third chapter was very, very clear. Seemingly meaningless details from hundreds of pages prior came to make sense. Interruptions in the story, now had their place. Masks were removed. Tales were told. Resolution came into focus.
Reading Grimus is, in some respects, like putting together a puzzle. The first chapter involves turning all of the pieces face up so we see what we have to work with. The second chapter relies on our powers of observation to not only look at the pieces but, at least try to fit them together. The third chapter leaves us with about 50 pieces left of a well-defined picture and we can race to the finish line, putting everything in place. In the end, you should have seen it all along.
The greatest praise I can heap on this book is this: Rushdie teaches us how to read it. Like every great master, Rushdie has the ability to take us out of our own world, disorient us, and reorient us in a way that is not unsettling, but engaging. In the end, we feel smarter and more open minded.
Grimus should really, in hindsight especially, get a lot more attention than it does. Rarely does a writer enter the scene so accomplished and well rounded as Rushdie does with this work. Although it is his first, it certainly is better than some of his other fares, and that alone should sell you on this book.