Customer Reviews

The Ground Beneath Her Feet : A Novel

5 star:		(48)
4 star:		(19)
3 star:		(26)
2 star:		(16)
1 star:		(10)

 

 

For the Rushdie fan, there is much in this book to be admired: imagination, brilliant storytelling, an excellent sense of humor and passages of some of the best prose being written in English today. It seems, at times, that Rushdie's inventive capacity is unlimited: the strangest of characters emerge with the most checkered of personal histories, idiosyncrasies and destinies -- so much so that believability is stretched to almost absurd limits. But hasn't this always been Rushdie's domain, ever since Midnight's Children? The difference here, perhaps (and this is why the novel is not a peer of Rushdie's best), is that the author appears to let the absurd, the outlandish, the improbable invade in almost random tentacles throughout the body of the work. Also, the prose is not as consistent as in earlier works -- flashes of brilliance, of genius, are followed by untidy ramblings in need of editing. There is something baffling-joycean about the work, but that is a mode that doesn't really suit Rushdie and his mature voice. He is at his absolute best at times, but the whole structure of the work does not always sustain the narrative. Moreover, you never really feel that Ormus and Vina are truly in love -- the deep love never really happens -- not anything that seems human, at least. Perhaps owing to the rock'n'roll milieu in which the novel transpires, there is more use of gutter language and more casual exposes of sexual acts and fantasies than one would normally encounter in a Rushdie novel. A bit of this kind of language is descriptive, demonstrative; too much of it (and this happens from time to time) impoverishes the overall texture of the novel. Still, Rushdie remains one of the most exciting and engaging writers alive today. I have not yet found a rival in the modern literary world. Let's only hope that his next novel will find the right blend between inventive caprice and the craftsmanship of an undisputed master.

Although I have loved other Rushdie novels and admired their complexities, I found this novel disappointing on a number of levels, not least of which is its clumsiness in style. Rushdie here veers from narrative to philosophical exposition, and even polemic, sometimes within the same paragraph. He appears to distance himself not only from his characters but also from his readers. The reader is jarred to no purpose when the narrative, which already switches back and forth in time and location, is interrupted yet again for turgid philosophical ramblings which do nothing to advance the plot and seem to serve primarily to give the illusion of depth to a shallow, too-long story.

At times the author patronizes both the reader and his characters: "Doorman Shetty doesn't know it, but he's echoing Plato. This is what the great philosopher has Phaedrus say in the Symposiums's first speech about love...." Two pages of philosophy follow.

In the conclusion of the book, when it is necessary to tie up the loose ends, the author devotes many pages to "telling about" the action, rather than recreating it and allowing the reader to draw his/her own conclusions. In case we have missed the many parallels he has made between his characters and the classical myths, he summarizes them for us. In the final two chapters, he also shifts the focus, startlingly, to the narrator, rather than keeping it on the two characters who have been the center(s) of the novel. And even on the last page, the author feels it necessary to explain, even providing us with the unifying theme of the book, should we need it: "In my lifetime, the love of Ormus and Vina is as close as I've come to a knowledge of the mythic, the overweening, the divine. Now that they've gone, the high drama's over. What remains is ordinary human life." The delights of this book, and there are many, are so deeply hidden in verbiage and in the exaltation of theme that this reader, at least, got tired of the shrieking and longed for a simple song.

Salman Rushdie is an excellent writer, there is no doubt about that, and he has once again shown this in his newest novel. As I looked over the other reviews I kept on seeing a common inconsistency. What I do not understand is why everyone keeps on comparing The Ground Beneath Her Feet to The Satanic Verses. The Satanic Verses is in a caliber of its own, (although personally I found the novel a bit more convoluted then necessary). Basically, The Satanic Verses was more detailed as far as time goes, there were more intricate plots and the concept of good and evil was raised to a higher degree. The Ground Beneath Her Feet focused more on a smaller group of people, which in my opinion gives the reader a better understanding of each character; something I appreciated. The main characters in this book also have a certain charisma that I have not noticed in many of his other novels and short stories. I sincerely enjoyed reading The Ground Beneath Her Feet, even more so than in most of Rushdie's other works.

"The Ground Beneath Her Feet" is Rushdie's latest offering to the world. It is yet another eruption of the rumbling force trapped under the landslide of hate and fanaticism. It is a voice from the underground pleading to be set free. The mythical framework used by Rushdie is the Orpheus-Eurydice legend. Orpheus ventured to the land of the dead to bring Eurydice back to life. Paralleling this myth is its Indian counterpart: that of Kama and Rati. Kama was destroyed by the third eye of Shiva but, when Rati pleaded, Shiva soon relented and restored him to life. These two legends are worked into Salman Rushdie's novel.

Ostensibly it is a love-story: the story of Vina Apsara and Ormus Cama, both star singers, much in love with each other, locked in a volatile relationship that can neither be consummated easily nor abandoned as a lost cause. Hovering between the two is Umeed Merchant, a.k.a. Rai, a professional photographer, also hopelessly infatuated with Vina Apsara. Rai is the narrator of the foredoomed love-story, the Tiresias who sees all and suffers all, the bard who can see and narrate Past, Present, and Future. The narrative begins with the disappearance of Vina Apsara on Valentine's Day of 1989 (which in reality was the day when Khomeini passed the infamous fatwa against Rushdie), loops back in time to recount events that took place in the past, and returns in a circumlocutory manner to the main story, thus completing a full circle. The myths used are timeless, but they are placed in a contemporary situation, making the story comprehensible to us in the present times.

What is unusual about Rushdie's latest gift to his readers is the music content of his book. Rushdie is no stranger to popular music. His earlier works have several references to popular songs, but in the present book music is an integral part of the story. Without it the story of Vina and Ormus would fall apart. During the last ten years, among the few people that the author has been in touch with is the rock group U2, whose lead singer, Bono, is his close friend. In fact, U2 was supposed to bring out a new album to coincide with the release of Rushdie's book. The book itself was to be marketed with a CD-ROM. However, the recording of the songs got delayed and the book has hit the market before the songs. The U2 album will shortly be released, we are told, and it has a few haunting lyrics from The Ground Beneath Her Feet.

Coupled with the music that weaves in and out of the story, is Rushdie's inimitable play with words. With language. With the known world as we percieve it. With history, as he distorts facts, combining reality with fantasy. His style remains irreverent, even arrogant, in the manner it challenges traditional usage, as in his erratic punctuation, when he repeatedly places a question mark and a comma together (?,). He deliberately thumbs his nose at the conservative reader in his idiosyncratic naming of his characters - Doodhwalla, his wife Gol-Matol, their daughters Halwa and Ras Gulla. True, sometimes the parody becomes annoying - for instance when Ormus's near-fatal accident is with a truckload of shit! But this is part of Rushdie's devil-may-care style: the brazenness of one who can look reality in the face, and yet see his own version of it. Who can unashamedly, unabashedly drop all pretences and be what he is because nothing, really nothing, matters any more. So, this is Rushdie. Take it or leave it!

What, one may ask, is the impact of the book? Perhaps it is too early to say. There has been too much of hype. Expectations have been inflated and analytical responses need more time. Perhaps, when the tremors have ceased and life gets back to normal it will be possible to determine the impact of this Rushdie-quake. Where is the epicenter? What is the intensity on the Richter scale? Is it a 6.8 or an 8.2? The music of Ormus and Vina still resounds, sometimes mournful, sometimes triumphant. Perhaps, when the last notes of music fade away and its echoes linger in the mind, or when we accept all of Rushdie's stylistic/verbal gimmickry, when we can finally turn to the unpretentious aspects of the book, only then will we be able to actually hear and understand the crie de coeur of an exiled writer from his subterranean refuge. Only then will his words hit us with their full impact: She was my ground, my favorite sound, my country road, my city street, my sky above, my only love, and the ground beneath my feet. Go lightly down your darkened way, go lightly underground, I'll be down there in another day, I won't rest until you're found. Let me love you true, let me rescue you, let me lead you to where two roads meet. O come back above, where there's only love, and the ground's beneath your feet.

Forget the banality of the lyrics. Forget the clichéd expressions of longing. What we have here is the voice of the author trapped under the garbage of human hate and fanaticism. What we have is a bleak, mournful, failing voice. A voice asking to be heard. Asking for reprieve.

And what is our response?

The silence of the Gutless!

MANJU JAIDKA

Until this novel, Salman Rushdie was a tease. Yes, his words are musical and magical, inventive and playful. And yes, his characters are complicated and real.

But I knew I was missing half of what he wrote. Who caught the targets of his allusions? Not me. I don't know the Koran (Satanic Verses) or the history of Pakistan (Shame) or India (Midnight's Children).

Now he has written something for me. Set in India and London and New York, the references and allusions are all to rock and roll. Elvis, Ike and Tina, Dylan, Madonna and U2 are obvious. Less obvious are David Bowie, David Byrne, and the Clash. But they are all here.

And the story is moving, easily the most emotional work he has crafted.

it is impossible for me to begin a "review" of the book, The Ground Beneath Her Feet." well, i guess it isn't impossible.

what i mean to say is, this book made my eyes water, my mind enter states of intense restlesness, and my mouth smile so hard it hurt at times, that i am quite often speechless when asked about this novel.

this is by far rushdie's most human book. sure, as some nay-saying people point out, he is *too* clever all over every page times one-hundred. true. that is because he is a clever person, i think. also, the book drags on, goes everywhere without going anywhere, etc., etc.... whatever. there is such intense beauty /hilarity/ originality /reality /fantasy /artistry in so many of the passages in this book, just when your heart/mind/funny-bone gets over the last brilliant passage, the next is upon you. god bless 'em.

if i weren't such an inarticulate neanderathal i would tell you how his epic writing is more than a match for all the widely diverse themes (some of his most poignant critiques of culture), time and space continuums, lunatic minds and worlds encompassed in this book. i would mention that his characters, rai, ormus, vina, are some of the most memorable people i have never met. i would mention how the reader is always at his mercy- when he wants you to feel, you feel- and how, fortunately, rushdie is merciful to those in need of complete satisfaction. too bad i'm not that articulate.

in any case, if you're just a casual reader, there are 1,000 and 1 reasons for you to read this book. if you are one of those intense stay-in- on-the-weekend- to-read-the-latest-from- this-or-that- contemporary-super-duper-intellectual- cutting-edge- blah-blah-blah-author people, then you probably make me look like the ignorant buffoon i am and there are even *more* reasons for you to read The Ground Beneath Her Feet. VTO forever!

It's interesting to see other reviewers contrast Ground Beneath Her Feet with Midnight's Children, as my thoughts ran the same way. While Midnight's Children is Rushdie's best novel, Ground Beneath Her Feet is the most fun. It is not a book for someone who is not a veteran Rushdie reader, as the author's puckish jokes and references to pop culture abound, and would irritate anyone who hasn't learned to love his puns and wordplay. In some ways Ground Beneath Her Feet reminded me of what Kurt Vonnegut said about his Breakfast of Champions: it's a book the author wrote as a gift to himself. Here, Rushdie is riffing and having fun with language. If you don't take it too seriously, it's a great ride. (It's also tremendous fun trying to catch all the fictional characters who are alive in Rushie's alternate reality.)

"The Ulysses of Rock and Roll", trumpets one reviewer on the dust jacket. Maybe. I can't think of any other decent contenders for that title. Certainly Rushdie has not let his fans down if what they were hoping for was for him to sustain his reputation for daring inventiveness and great writing.

This novel is the story of a rock star couple, in the vein of Ike and Tina Turner (though later on with the reclusive lifestyle of Michael Jackson), told from the perspective of a friend (and sometime lover) photographer. The settings span India (of course), England and the US; the themes include music (naturally), mysticism, insanity and loyalty. Oh, and seismology - the earthquake is ever-present, warning the reader that nothing is to be relied on, that the ground can give way beneath you at any point.

Without giving away too much of the plot, the book is set in what science fiction writers would call a parallel universe, where Simon and Garfunkel are women, where Bill Clinton never makes it to the presidential candidacy (due to the premature discovery of certain extramarital liaisons), and England joins the Vietnam conflict. All the settings are beautifully portrayed, but the greatest literary trick that Rushdie uses is to use real people - mostly rock stars - as characters. U2 put in an appearance (a group called Vox Pop - referring to Bono's full name, Bono Vox, and their mid-90s album Pop) as "a promising Irish quartet"; Andy Warhol is there, with Basquiat, Lou Reed and the rest of the crowd; David Bowie is the "thin guy from England" ; and so on. The rock fan will have a lot of fun looking out for the others. The honour of most prominent real person, though, goes bizarrely to Brian Eno, portrayed as himself (a music engineer). Amazing.

In a case of art imitating art, U2 have written material using lyrics from the book. The songs, in turn, are in the soundtrack to the Wim Wenders movie Million Dollar Hotel. And Rushdie goes on to feature as a character in the spy thriller The Hit List, by (real life) former British special forces operative Chris Ryan. Multimedia indeed.

Where will it end? I don't care. This is great fun, and brilliant writing to boot.

This is one of the times when someone feels that whatever he might say, it won't be enough!Reading "The ground beneath her feet" was one of the most revealing times of my life. Never again had I felt this way...and Rushdi..what an inspired man. His writing made me think and his story reminded me how one book can change so many things: from the way you see life to the way you share your heart and your love...

Salman Rushdie writes yet another literary extravaganza, full of word plays, symponies of metaphors and a very interesting tale of love, music and twentieth century world. Recommended to anyone who has apetite for heavy reading, for in Rushdie's writing you need to savor the story frame by frame, page by page, sentence by sentence. Complexity is integral to this novel as well, but for someone who has read Midnight Children, Moors Last Sigh and/or Satanic Verses, this book presents a very interesting and simpler read: for its a typical Rushdie novel, with all the drama and absurdities of rock and roll and a very fine love story! Characteristic Rushdie wit keeps you humored, and density of work occupied!!!!

PS: Never read Rushdie if you fancy reading 100 page novels in a hours time!!! Reading Rushdie is an effort, but trust me, a worthwhile one!