Typically a British literary affair. An immigrant author given a literary prize for also making other than literary achievements. To be an activist of any cause is the death of a writer. Salman should take it as a warning of his waning as a writer. People have started writing his obituary and his books could be mentioned only as an after thought.
But he has had a windfall too, in terms of marrying slim women always taller than him, and holding them by their thin waists like a trophy, while being photographed in his bow ties and a wicked smile. He was perhaps not as ugly as people thought he was. It all evokes a sharp pang of envy, to think about his career in those terms, except his work.
But he has always been so loved one of British literary establishment. He has even won a booker of a booker. One remembers his interview to BBC, appealing the power that be at it, for one thing or another. He made some really shrewd career moves to be.
So it was a career worth learning from.
Archive for June, 2014
His work was like faking emotions, to calm or create the anxieties of the society about it. Just like a woman faking an orgasm, to manipulate her man.
It seems more words are useless. The world has enough of them.
Probably we have so much around that even if all the reading people try to make a conscious effort at finish them reading together, they might not succeed. It is so while people are reading several times more the number of words each day, than they used to say a decade back.
Still people have not given up producing words or reading them.
May be the importance of the words the readers look for has been accentuated by the absence of them.
Good writers will always be in demand.
Bad ones can not hide behind their words for ever.