Book 42: The Golden House by Salman Rushdie

The things I once loved about Salman Rushdie are the same things I now cannot stand.

Rushdie was the first “serious” author I ever read – and by that I mean the first from the literary establishment, after spending my teenage years consumed mostly with genre fiction. Twenty-year-old me found Fury and Midnight’s Children and The Satanic Verses absolutely dazzling – rich, textured, unknowable beasts. Continue reading “Book 42: The Golden House by Salman Rushdie”