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Now call me a philistine, but I’m just not sure about this book. It bears more than a passing ressemblance (mostly thematic) to Mistry’s A Fine Balance and has won lots of important awards, including the Booker of Bookers.

And you know, the story is great. Interesting, lots of twists and turns, fantastic but not too fantastic to be believable. And I’m not afraid of spiralled narratives – One Hundred Years of Solitude uses similar devices, and I love it.

I guess the self-referentiallty, and the obsession with summing up and resuming up the action that had already happened, and the oh-woe-is-me-ness of the narrator (another device, I know) just started to get to me after a while. I kept reading because I wanted to find out what next, but the writing kind of annoyed me.

I do like the way Rushdie sometimes listed things without commas, and I did like the foreshadowing, (had it not led to so much aft-shadowing…)

So… I enjoyed Midnight’s Children, I guess, despite myself, even if it did take me ages to read.