The Moor's Last Sigh by Salman Rushdie
this book was frightening to me. not so much in the traditional sense of a horror movie or car crash- but more like watching a car crash in a movie. it is psychologically upsetting, however you aren't entirely involved- you are not in the sphere of influence necessary for total fear that will stick with you when you go to bed at night. i may be getting a little too philosophical.... sorry about that. this book wasn't as much of a mind fuck as The Satanic Verses which may stay with me for the rest of my life- the images of the butterflies on the pilgrimmage to Meccah and the man transforming into a goat in the back of a van..... those will be with me for a while. when i am old and gray, recounting stories of my youth in a nursing home, i will probably talk about these twisted fairy tales. grimm's tales for english speaking indians. that's what salman rushdie writes. yes, that's it. this might not make sense to you, but i can definitely feel the sprout of an idea here. rushdie writes memorable shit. 'nuff said. how could anyone possibly live in such dystopias? i'm about to read cormac mccarthy's the road (not looking forward to the post-apocalyptic horrors shared between man and son, but my group members insist.... what could i say?). maybe i am just on a dystopic kick. i wonder if india is really like this? surely not- no where can be so corrupt and violent, right? with drugs being smuggled in baby powder shipments and artists mixing with politicians to result in murderous fueds and trickery- husbands killing wives and real life romeo and juliet mix ups. does such a place exist? is this the world we live in? i sure hope not. and if it is, i'm parking myself in montana. oh wait, i forgot about the unibomber though.... (i swear me and my friend found his abandoned hide out in the woods when we were kids....)
alright, thats enough for tonight. it's best i quit thinking and go do some school work. ha.
good night*
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