Soft launch
A certain author soft-launched his book into stores a week ago, just like with that tale of Kashmir and a clown. (Finding a new Rushdie unannounced is like discovering garlic naan in your freezer.) And The Enchantress of Florence is good so far. It reminds me of The Moor’s Last Sigh, though he’s lost some of his panoramic complexity and is reduced to a tale of literal magick, sexual unguents and dazzle. His Jodha or celeb-chasing lifestyle just took it out of him.
You’ve got the fabric pattern, the desi-ish colors, the gold leaf accents, the post-orgasmic woman on the cover. Only this time it’s equally Florentine as Mughal. The typesetting is in lovely Bembo, true, but the pages aren’t rough-cut. They’re saving on cost either because the author has determined fans who need no such sensual enticements, or because his last didn’t sell.
I’m happy for it in any form. It’s been two years since I got Rushdie’d.
Previously: Mojo returned, The Enchantress of Florence
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