"The immortal writers of the past were his guides. He was not, after all, the first writer to be endangered or sequestered or anathematized for his art. He thought of mighty Dostoyevsky facing the firing squad and then, after the last-minute commutation of his sentence, spending four years in a prison camp, and of Genet unstoppably writing his violently homoerotic masterpiece Our Lady of the Flowers in jail…. Rabelais too had been condemned by religious authority; the Catholic Church had been unable to stomach his satirical hyperabundance. But he had been defended by the king, François I, on the grounds that his genius could not be suppressed. Those were the days, when artists could be defended by kings because they were good at what they did. These were lesser times."
Midnight's Children é um romance magnífico agora, sinceramente, o cara escreve sobre ele mesmo na terceira pessoa e se compara a Dostoyevsky, Genet e Rabelais no mesmo parágrafo... e depois acha que o Aiatolá deveria te-lo protegido pela qualidade excepcional da sua prosa! Recomendo a resenha interessante de Zoë Heller, onde ela coloca certos pingos em certos iis. Principalmente no contraste entre as grandiloqüentes ideias da literatura como salvação da humanidade e os seus grandes profetas, gente como Rushdie e Vargas Llosa, esses distintos dinossauros que viajam o globo espalhando generosamente sua sabedoria implacável sobre as nossas cabecinhas:
"The job of literature, he instructs us in the final pages of this memoir, is to encourage “understanding, sympathy and identification with people not like oneself…to make the world feel larger, wider than before.” Some readers may find, by the end of Joseph Anton, that the world feels rather smaller and grimmer than before. But they should not be unduly alarmed. The world is as large and as wide as it ever was; it’s just Rushdie who got small."
|Flagrante de um leitor sem livro recebendo a graça divina das sábias palavras Salman Rushdie|