On August 12, 2022, a horrific terrorist attack took place in Chautauqua, New York, igniting discussion about one of the most debated issues in the Western world: freedom of speech. Salman Rushdie, an Iranian-born author internationally known for his distinctive oeuvre interlacing the political and historical with the subjective and magical, was stabbed multiple times by a radicalized Islamist while on stage at the Chautauqua Institution. Ironically, Rushdie’s speech was about violence against writers. The Iranian-British author was well-suited to address the subject, having suffered persecution initiated by religious fundamentalists in his home country. Rushdie’s fourth book, The Satanic Verses, published in 1988, caused outrage across the Islamic world, which renounced the book as blasphemous. One year later, Ayatollah Khomeini issued a fatwa decreeing Rushdie’s death and calling on devout believers to murder the author. The “Rushdie Affair” forced the author into hiding, ultimately finding refuge in Britain and America, where he established his reputation as a respected author in the free world.
Knife is Rushdie’s second autobiography. The first, Joseph Anton, published in 2012, takes its title from Rushdie’s alias during his banishment. It was an amalgamation of the names of two renowned authors: Conrad and Chekhov. The book recounted the turbulence that marked Rushdie’s first years after Khomeini’s death sentence and was distinguished by its candidness, captivating narrative voice, and intermittent humour.
Knife grapples with existential questions raised by Rushdie’s near-death experience in Chautauqua. In the opening chapter, Rushdie claims that the book aims to make sense of his intimate encounter with death. He begins his reminiscence with an account of the days preceding the attack but quickly shifts focus to the grim event itself. Rushdie’s plain, matter-of-fact writing style vividly conveys the gruesome details, making the 27-second confrontation between him and his assailant, Hadi Matar, particularly painful to imagine. Cultural and literary references are amply dispersed throughout the text, though they sometimes detract from the narrative’s coherence.
Rushdie conveys his experience with graphic horror and extreme agony. He writes about his thoughts immediately after the stabbing: the shame and humiliation from being unable to defend himself, the gratitude for those who helped him, and random thoughts that evoke the reader’s mirth. In critical condition, Rushdie was transferred to UPMC Hamot in Erie, where doctors held little hope for his survival. Yet, nearly a day later, Rushdie awoke and began counting his injuries. He had been stabbed in the torso, neck, and face, with the most severe injury being the stabbing that pierced the optic nerve in one eye, rendering him semi-blind. A poignant scene describes Rushdie looking at himself in the hospital mirror, revealing his profound feelings of grief and fear. This stark prose reminds us why Rushdie, a Booker Prize winner in 1981, was knighted for his services to literature in 2007.
The knife, a morally neutral object, becomes a symbol of hate, and Rushdie counteracts this with his own arsenal of words: “Language was a knife. It could cut open the world and reveal its meaning (…) It could cut through from one reality to another (…) Language was my knife.” (85) The author’s belief in literature as a means of self-repair runs throughout the book. His healing journey, beginning at Hamot and continuing in a New York rehabilitation centre, covers the first half of Knife (“The Angel of Death”). The second half, “The Angel of Life,” adopts a slightly different tone, reflecting Rushdie’s triumph over the Grim Reaper and the wisdom gained from his ordeal.
The chapter that dominates the second half imagines a fictional interview with his aggressor, “the A.” Although Rushdie states early on that he does not intend to dwell on his attacker, he constructs a fictional character of himself to confront the man who nearly killed him. This interaction, intentionally uneasy at times, depicts Rushdie’s attempts to make a radicalized young man acknowledge the uncertainty of religious credos. Moments of brilliance in this chapter echo the doubts of free-thinking individuals worldwide. When “the A” accuses Rushdie of having a “bad mind” like an American, Rushdie’s elegant retorts encapsulate the ongoing global cultural dialogue.
Rushdie is not the only writer victimized by fanaticism. On October 14, 1994, Naguib Mahfouz was attacked in Cairo, similarly condemned for blasphemy. Mahfouz survived but was left with severe injuries that significantly altered his life. Rushdie also mourns the recent fates of other notable authors: Martin Amis’s death in May 2023, Paul Auster’s cancer diagnosis, and Bill Buford’s heart issues. Rushdie writes: “There have been many times since the attack when I have thought that Death was hovering over the wrong people.” (124)
Apart from being a great writer, Rushdie has always been a vocal patron of freedom of expression and a critic of censorship. His struggles with authoritarianism and cultural terrorism illuminate the portrait of a brave man unafraid to go against the current, even at the risk of his life. Knife concludes with Rushdie returning to the Chautauqua amphitheatre where he nearly lost his life. His wife, Rachel Eliza Griffiths, a poet and novelist, stands beside him, and Rushdie dedicates a chapter to their relationship. This personal detail stands out in a narrative filled with pain, loss, and redemption.
Knife: A Memoir is a powerful and evocative account of Salman Rushdie’s harrowing experience and its aftermath. The memoir effectively captures the horror of the attack and the subsequent journey of recovery, showcasing Rushdie’s resilience and literary prowess. However, some readers might find the narrative occasionally repetitive, as Rushdie revisits the traumatic event from multiple angles. Additionally, while the book is enriched with cultural and literary references, these can sometimes disrupt the flow of the personal narrative, making the story feel disjointed. Rushdie’s matter-of-fact writing style, although effective in recounting events, may lack the emotional depth expected from such a personal memoir, creating a sense of emotional distance for some readers. Furthermore, the shift in tone between the immediate aftermath of the attack and the later reflections might feel jarring, affecting the overall consistency of the narrative.
Despite these minor critiques, Knife remains a poignant and impactful read, providing a profound exploration of trauma, recovery, and the power of literature. Rushdie’s sterling character and piranhic energy permeate the pages, guaranteeing a memorable reading experience.
You can read more from Dimitris Passas on Tap the line online magazine.
