The Enchantress of Florence
by Salman Rushdie
Vintage, HK$108
Critic John Sutherland was so convinced that The Enchantress of Florence would claim 2008's Man Booker Prize that he vowed to 'curry his proof copy and eat it' if Salman Rushdie did not win. One can only imagine the state of his bowels when Rushdie failed to make even the shortlist. Aside from the whiff of casual racism (would Sutherland eat his Philip Roth proofs with matzo ball soup or Derek Walcott's with jerk chicken, I wonder), his bet was sensible enough. After the badly received Fury and Shalimar the Clown, Rushdie's narrative ingenuity and verbal dexterity signalled a resurgence. The story has many heroes: the handsome and nomadic Mogor Dell'Amore (The Mughal of Love) who travels across the world to tell a story to the Grand Mughal, Akbar. Like the Mogor's journey, his tale constantly doubles back on itself and might cost him his life: he claims to be the son of a Mughal Princess, Qara Koz (Black Eyes) and therefore the uncle of Akbar. The Enchantress of Florence is as swift and light as the wind, sweeping from Renaissance Florence (and a story of Machiavelli) all the way to the foundation of America. It is a novel of our times.