It is 20 years since Sir Salman Rushdie published his fourth novel, The
Satanic Verses, about two Indian actors, Gibreel and Saladin. Within
weeks Islamist groups were accusing the writer of blasphemy and burning
effigies of him in the streets. On February 14, 1989, Ayatollah Khomeini
issued a fatwa against him, calling for his death, forcing him into hiding
for nearly a decade and turning him into one of the most famous authors in
the world.
With hindsight, Rushdie says, he realises the fatwa was merely the “prologue”
in a very long novel that is becoming ever more terrifying.
On September 11, 2001, one of his three favourite cities, New York, was
attacked, four years later his adopted home of London was targeted by
suicide bombers and last year, Mumbai, the city of his birth, was
overwhelmed by extremists intent on causing havoc.
The West should, he thinks, have realised that the fatwa was just the
beginning of a new era. “There was a tendency from everybody to believe that
it was an isolated incident rather than an indicator or something wider, to
believe that it was all my fault,” he says.
He is not worried about the anniversary. “I am sure there will be some nasty
noises but there are nasty noises every year.” But as someone who has lived
much of his life under the shadow of fundamentalism, he believes that
successive British governments have pursued the wrong policy over religious
extremists. “This country became the safe haven for every extremist group in
the world. It was idiocy – idiocy,” he says.
Rushdie has always been riveted by the disruptions and migrations between the
Eastern and Western world, and his latest book, The Enchantress of
Florence, brings together the extravagant Islamic Mughal empire and the
equally extraordinary Florentine world of Machiavelli.
“I thought the thing that would be interesting was how different the two
worlds were. I kept finding echoes. Both cultures were very hedonistic, both
trying to choose between a puritanical and secularist view,” he says.
There are, of course, striking parallels with the rising tensions between East
and West in this century. Rushdie is not convinced that there is a “clash of
civilisations” between Islam and Christianity. “There is a kind of Islam
which is at war with an idea of the West but neither the West nor the Muslim
world is monolithic,” he says.
He watched with horror as flames tore through the Taj Mahal Palace hotel in
Mumbai. “Those are the streets I grew up on. Two of the characters in my
novel Midnight’s Children consummate their love affair in the
Palace, as so many of us did.” His voice trails off for a moment. “It is
strange that the three cities in my life that I have loved have all been
subjected to terrorist attack in the last ten years.”
The people of Mumbai showed extraordinary courage under attack, he says but
now the overwhelming mood is of great anger. “There is no question that this
was Pakistan. You could see it as an act of war. The West should be tougher
on Pakistan. It is trying to play both ends against the middle – to look
like the friend of the revolutionaries on the one hand and a friend of the
West in the fight against terrorism. It can’t be both things. This country
should make clear that as long as Pakistan harbours terrorists it’s not
going to get any Western aid.”
Britain has in his view been far too complacent about the rise of extremism.
“Both Thatcher and Blair made the same mistake, which was the so-called
Londonistan policy where you allow these [Islamist] groups to set up shop
here in the belief that if you do that they won’t attack this country and
that you can monitor them.”
Labour became much tougher on suspected terrorists after 9/11, raising
concerns that civil liberties were being brushed aside. “The War on Terror
was always a terrible phrase,” says Rushdie. “You are never going to defeat
terror. But I sometimes think that liberal opinion in this country doesn’t
see that there actually are enemies.
We just saw in Mumbai a demonstration of the extraordinary barbarism that
people are prepared to unleash on the world. How many of these attacks do we
need before we understand what’s going on?”
There can be few people who feel the threat of fundamentalism more keenly than
Rushdie. He lived with the threat of assassination for nine years but he
does not regret writing The Satanic Verses. “Of course I don’t, why
would I? But I’m pleased that finally it’s being read like a book. It used
to be taught on politics and religion courses; now it’s getting taught on
fiction courses.” Some people would think of the time in hiding as missing
years but he says: “You never really lose your time because if you are any
good as a writer you learn from whatever happens to you. I met a lot of men
of power in those years, so when I have to set out to create one I have
quite a lot of models in my head.”
There are, he tells us, many myths about his time in hiding. “I have read that
I slept in 56 beds in three months. But for seven of the nine years I lived
in the same house.”
He hates the idea that he was sponging off the state, pointing out that he was
never given a government safe house. “They told me I couldn’t live at home
and I had to find somewhere else to live and pay for it.”
It is hard to imagine what he did when he was hidden away for nine years.
“Like everybody else I played a computer game or two . . . Martin [Amis] had
these poker nights.”
His would, he admits, be an extraordinary autobiography. “I have the Chinese
curse of living in interesting times.” He was deeply hurt when a former
driver tried to publish a book last year, in which he made many false
allegations including suggesting that Rushdie was suicidal and did not get
on with his protection officers. “Somebody tried to make a few bucks by
telling a bunch of total lies. One of these days I will have to tell the
story because otherwise I am going to be constantly vulnerable.”
Rushdie is baffled by the hostility he inspires among some. “People can be
very generous or very unfair and you never know which way they are going to
go. Many of my friends were extraordinary in that period [in hiding]. But
there was also this surprising level of media hostility that still goes on.
The subtext being – it’s his own fault, he made the mistake of living and
now he appears to be having a good time. He ought to be sitting in penance.”
The man once forced to be a recluse is now portrayed as a party animal, a
favourite for the paparazzi, because he often has a beautiful woman on his
arm.
A t times he has played to the camera – he had a cameo role in the film Bridget
Jones’s Diary, and appeared in a music video with Scarlett
Johannson – but he remains uncomfortable with the idea of celebrity.
“Everybody goes to parties; it’s just that when I go to parties they are
always in the press.” After four failed marriages, he says he has no
intention of tying the knot again. “I’m not saying I am never going to fall
in love again but there is no need to marry.” Nor does he want any more
children. “I’m 61, enough already.” His latest project, however, is a
children’s book. “When I wrote my last children’s book my oldest son was 11.
He’s 29 now. I have another 11-year-old now who wants a book. I read him the
first 15 pages and he liked it.”
He is fascinated by the success of the Harry Potter books. “The conventional
thought about children’s books was to keep them short – J. K. Rowling turned
that on its head.” Publishers should, he thinks, be more willing to
challenge readers, whatever their age. “The whole world is commercial,
including publishing. There’s been a kind of bestselleritis.” Is it just
about getting on to Richard and Judy’s book list? “So I hear. If anyone
likes my books, I am happy. I don’t mind if they don’t.”
He is not a fan of misery lit. “At its best it’s as interesting as any other
form. The trouble is, at its worst it does become this kind of blurt.”
The literary world has changed since he started writing. “In the late
Seventies to late Eighties there was a real desire for originality and a lot
of us benefited from that – Angela Carter, Martin Amis, Ian McEwan, me.” The
man who last year won the Best of the Booker for Midnight’s Children
says the British obsession with prizes baffles him. “They’ve become a
marketing device, a way of selling books.”
The Orange Prize for women is in his view “patronising”. “This is one world
where women can more than hold their own and you don’t need to create a
ghetto.”
In his view longevity is more important than instant success. If he submitted
a manuscript to a publisher now, however, he doubts it would be accepted. “I
wouldn’t like to be starting now,” he says. “I was lucky to get published in
the first place.”
Sir Salman’s story
- Ahmed Salman Rushdie
- Born June 19, 1947
- The only son of Anis Ahmed Rushdie, Salman was born in Mumbai
- Married four times, has two sons, Zafar and Milan
- Educated at Cathedral and John Connon School in Mumbai, Rugby School and
King’s College, Cambridge, where he studied history
- Worked for advertising agencies before writing full-time
Novels: Grimus, Midnight’s Children (voted the best novel
to win the Booker Prize in the award’s 40-year history) Shame, The
Satanic Verses, The Moor’s Last Sigh, Shalimar the Clown,
Haroun and the Sea of Stories, The Enchantress of Florence
Quick-fire questions
Joanna or Anthony Trollope? Joanna, no question
Bridget Jones or Anna Karenina? Anna Karenina
Mumbai or London? Can’t choose
Matisse or Picasso? Picasso, but it’s a close thing
The Ivy or The Bombay Brasserie? The Ivy
Extrovert or introvert? I am more introverted
Optimist or pessimist? Can I be both?
Does that include him? Extremism can have different forms and ways of expression.
Amin, Leicester, UK
“This country became the safe haven for every extremist group in the world. It was idiocy – idiocy,” he says.
How right Rushdie is!
gerry, exeter, england