Words triumph

Salman Rushdie’s vivid imagination and love of magical realism in full flow in new novel.

VICTORY CITY, by Salman Rushdie (Jonathan Cape, $37)

In his first interview since the horrific attack on him last August in New York, Salman Rushdie humorously observed, “I have always thought that my books are more interesting than my life. Unfortunately, the world appears to disagree.”

Rushdie’s 15th novel, Victory City, was completed before the attack. Just as well, because he claims everything he has tried to write since has ended up in the bin. With the novel, the India-born British-American is back in his favoured world of magical realism, the world of The Enchantress of Florence, Haroun and the Sea of Stories, most recently Quichotte, and indeed his Booker Prize-winning Midnight’s Children.

Victory City is a far-ranging Indian historical romp set in the Middle Ages. Some of the characters and locations are real, some not. It is a dense book, due less to the number of pages – about 350 – than the volume of information, twists in the story and a voluminous cast of characters. Plus, our central character, Pampa Kampana, lives to the age of 247. We have an array of husbands, rulers, daughters and lovers, all of whom must inevitably die before she does.

Having been given the gift of long life by the goddess Parvati, Pampa Kampana becomes the founder of the city of Bisnaga, which she cultivates from a basket of seeds, first growing the city itself and then whispering in the ears of its new inhabitants to create every backstory. It is here that Rushdie is at his descriptive best: “Then life began, and hundreds – no thousands – of men and women were born full-grown from the brown earth, shaking the earth off their garments, and thronging the streets in the evening breeze. Stray dogs and bony cows walked into the streets, trees burst into blossom and leaf, and the sky swarmed with parrots, yes, and crows. There was laundry upon the riverbank …”

The words of Pampa Kampana are always the most persuasive, but she constantly has to face the horror of her own situation. “Her lovers would die, her children (who already looked more like her sisters than her offspring) would look older than their mother and fade away, the generations would flow past her, but her beauty would not fade. This knowledge brought her very little pleasure.” This is as much her story as it is about the dynasty she created and tried to imbue with a strong female inheritance.

As with many Rushdie novels, there are many levels on which to enjoy the narrative: historical fiction, current affairs commentary, or just ways to have a touch of fun at the readers’ expense.

It is possible to read modern interpretations into the narrative; Rushdie has been critical of the Modi government. The theme of popularity allowing you to get away with anything is a frequent motif, echoing recent events around the globe. Look carefully and you will find literary references to the “once and future queen” and the “witch behind a wardrobe”.

There can be no doubt about the author’s credentials; the flow of prose is effortless, the breadth of imagination boundless. But Rushdie seems unable to stop helping the reader further. A mere 30 pages into the book there’s a paragraph in italics, extra narration in the author’s own voice. It’s as if he were impatient for the story to move forwards. And then, after all the characters and turns of the story, as it begins to draw to a close, he again feels the need to spell out the moral of the tale. The novel is all about the power of words – they are the only victors. All that remains of the once great city of Bisnaga are the buried words of Pampa that tell its story. ▮