Fury

Life is fury. Fury-sexual Oedipal political magical brutal- drives us to our finest heights and coarsest depths. This is what we are what we civilize ourselves to disguise-the terrifying human animal in us the exalted transcendent self-destructive untrammeled lord of creation. We raise each other to the heights of joy. We tear each other limb from bloody limb. Malik Solanka historian of ideas and dollmaker extraordinaire steps out of his life one day abandons his family without a word of explanation and flees London for New York. There's a fury within him and he fears he has become dangerous to those he loves. He arrives in New York at a time of unprecedented plenty in the highest hour of America's wealth and power seeking to erase himself. Eat me America he prays and give me peace.But fury is all around him. Cabdrivers spout invective. A serial killer is murdering women with a lump of concrete. The petty spats and bone-deep resentments of the metropolis engulf him. His own thoughts emotions and desires meanwhile are also running wild. A tall green-eyed young blonde in a D'Angelo Voodoo baseball cap is in store for him. As is another woman with whom he will fall in love and be drawn toward a different fury whose roots lie on the far side of the world. Fury is a work of explosive energy at once a pitiless and pitch-black comedy a profoundly disturbing inquiry into the darkest side of human nature and a love story of mesmerizing force. It is also an astonishing portrait of New York. Not since the Bombay of Midnight's Children have a time and place been so intensely and accurately captured in a novel. In his eighth novel Salman Rushdie brilliantly entwines moments of anger and frenzy with those of humor honesty and intimacy. Fury is above all a masterly chronicle of the human condition.