On 8/12/2022, world-famous author Salman Rushdie was stabbed during a speaking event at the Chautauqua Institution. This attack came three decades after Mr. Rushdie originally went into hiding after several assassination attempts and death threats regarding his controversial and highly acclaimed novel, The Satanic Verses, in 1988. My first exposure to Mr. Rushdie was in the 2001 film, Bridget Jones' Diary. Mr. Rushdie played himself in a scene about a publisher's book launch. Many of the characters in this scene, including the film's eponymous main character, bumble in his presence. I remember thinking it clever that this modern take on Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice would make use of contemporary social icons such as Mr. Rushdie for its cast, but I didn't bother to read his work or find out more about him at the time. This fact would have been unsurprising if I were a character in The Satanic Verses; I can't say it's surprising in any case. Bridget Jones was character enough in my unreflective assessment--what had Mr. Rushdie to do with me? I knew exactly who my friend from college meant when he shared the news of the attempt on Mr. Rushdie's life, however. Mr. Rushdie had something to do with me now because he was a writer under attack in a highly polemical time in my own country. He was now a symbol of how my own fears could be realized. I rushed to borrow an e-copy of The Satanic Verses from one of my local libraries and--despite the density of the narrative--managed to finish reading it within the space of a very busy week. Just before beginning Mr. Rushdie's book, I'd finished The Lives of the Mayfair Witches, a trilogy by Anne Rice, of Interview with a Vampire fame. I notice an interesting parallel between these two works, and while I could comment on The Satanic Verses alone, Ms. Rice's work functions as a sort of bridge to understanding it for people of my upbringing (namely, deeply ritualized Christianity in middle-class white America). Both their works function as critiques not only of popular culture, but of popular religion. Each author uses the faith context and cultural context of their upbringing as central characters in their narratives. They systematically expose the shortcomings and dangers of those contexts while weaving their idiosyncrasies together with those of other complex characters. All their characters, human and otherwise, face challenging circumstances, and so I cannot help but feel sympathy for the guilty, the treacherous, the power-hungry--for I am like that sometimes, too. We all are, as these authors' narratives so skillfully show. This is the description of the Chautauqua Institution, where Mr. Rushdie was recently attacked, as listed on the Chautauqua Institution's homepage: We are a community of artists, educators, thinkers, faith leaders and friends dedicated to exploring the best in humanity. Whether it’s your first time visiting or your fiftieth, our promise is the same: Wisdom will be gleaned. Memories will be made. Life will be enriched. Positive change is your charge. Reading Mr. Rushdie and Ms. Rice, I am offered mirrors of my own humanity, and it's not lost on me that Mr. Rushdie's most recent attack took place at one of the last places on earth where violence would be expected. The worst of humanity can show up even in places where the best of humanity is cultivated.
I admit that it's hard to see myself reflected in their narratives. But I am also not beholden to my reflection. By seeing myself more clearly with these devastating mirrors, I am empowered to act on that seeing, to critique myself and to change the world in the only way I can: by changing what needs changing in me. When you look in the mirror of authors like Mr. Rushdie and Ms. Rice, what do you see?
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