Salman Rushdie, ‘Two Years Eight Months and Twenty-eight Nights’

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I don’t know what to make of this yet. Obviously, I’m already a fan so I already enjoy all the Rushdie traits: linguistic japery, strangeness, pop-culture mingling with high-culture, the dizzying tumble of stories and ideas.  I haven’t been able to get a handle on it properly in my first reading but I have a feeling that the final paragraph will unlock the rest of it:

Mostly we are glad. Our lives are good. But sometimes we wish for the dreams to return. Sometimes, for we have not wholly rid ourselves of perversity, we long for nightmares.

I’ll get back to you.

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