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The Ground Beneath Her Feet Paperback – May 9 2000


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Product Details

  • Paperback: 592 pages
  • Publisher: Vintage Canada; Vintage Canada ed., 2000 edition (May 9 2000)
  • Language: English
  • ISBN-10: 0676972640
  • ISBN-13: 978-0676972641
  • Product Dimensions: 22.4 x 15.5 x 3.8 cm
  • Shipping Weight: 839 g
  • Average Customer Review: 3.7 out of 5 stars  See all reviews (98 customer reviews)
  • Amazon Bestsellers Rank: #299,151 in Books (See Top 100 in Books)


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3.7 out of 5 stars
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1 of 1 people found the following review helpful By A Customer on July 20 2001
Format: Paperback
The difference between "Midnight's Children" and "The Ground Beneath Her Feet" is the difference between a long, fantastic novel that pulls you in and keeps you intoxicated throughout (MC) and a long, fantastic novel that doesn't know when to stop and wears you out long before it's finished (TGBHF). Since Rushdie uses some of the world of the former to populate and illustrate the latter, it's not an inappropriate comparison. The deft storytelling talents of Rushdie are still to be seen within the hackneyed plot, though, and that's what kept me reading t'il the end. But even then it's hard to give much of a rip about either Ormus Cama or Vina Apsara. This isn't 1972 and the notion of rock stars as tormented demigods went out with Ziggy Stardust and The Spiders From Mars. Say it's an entertaining read in spite of itself and go get "Haroun" or "Shame" for more potent examples of Rushdies considerable writing talents.
Oh, yeah, it's way, way, way, way, WAY too long!
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1 of 1 people found the following review helpful By A Customer on July 17 2001
Format: Paperback
This one helps us understand the difference between proficiency in language and mastery of writing, between mechanical wit and humor, between being a smartypants and being wise. Rushdie definitely knows how to speak English, and he desperately wants us to know he knows. (Is this part of the Indian Anglophilia to which he often refers in the novel?) He is so enchanted by the sound of his own voice, and so impressed by his accumulated store of random facts, that he reminds us of a child who is so pleased with himself for having mastered tying his shoelaces that he can't stop accosting people on the street to display his prowess. Or of the girl who always sat in the front row and constantly raised her hand urgently, begging for the opportunity to answer every question. This novel has "Look at me! Look at me! Aren't I clever?" written all over it.
No, I'm not intimidated by long books, or by literary (or musical) allusions, or by experimental prose forms, but I'm bored to tears with big, fat books that got that way because the self-indulgent author has a bad case of verbal diarrhea and the editor doesn't dare tell him so. Constantly rambling off on tangents that do nothing to advance the story or even entertain us, Rushdie takes perhaps two hundred pages to settle into making some attempt to tell us the story his sometime-narrator (that is, the character who is supposedly telling us the story but couldn't possibly have acquired any knowledge of most of it) keeps informing us he's going to tell us, after he tells us lots of stuff that we don't much care about.
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1 of 1 people found the following review helpful By P. C. on Jan. 30 2001
Format: Paperback
As a musician for more than 20 years I looked forward to reading this one. A feast had been promised; a gentleman from The Times was quoted on the back cover (of the paperback) as saying this was "The first great rock 'n' roll novel in the English language". He should get out more; this work was out of tune almost from the opening riff. Imagine a book crying out for an editor. Imagine an author who lets his writing and writing technique get in the way of his story. Imagine a story with two main characters so obnoxious, shallow and lacking in humanity that it is almost impossible to either sympathise or empathise; a badly-drawn boy and girl. Imagine a so-called 'rock 'n' roll novel that fails to convey the raunchy, ball-busting, sweat stained, 'shout at the moon' essence of what rock 'n' roll is about.Imagine an author splattering his story with party political broadsides against corruption in India, but who conversely, and with some pride, takes us on occasional but unnecessary tours of Bombay - through the eyes of the story's narrator. The development of Vina and Ormus from obscurity to fame is tenuous, and involves none of the emotional impact you would expect when a couple of unknowns hit the big time. I wanted to be there with them; share the emotion; feel the vibe; but I couldn't get close. Despite the fact that we learn of Vina's fate in the first few pages, it gradually becomes apparent that Vina and Ormus never had a chance really; that the author had modelled them on the legendary and tragic Orpheus and Eurydice; that he had in fact abandoned them to destruction. And if the author doesn't care for his creations, then why should the reader?Read more ›
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1 of 1 people found the following review helpful By Lee on Dec 16 1999
I found the characters completely devoid of life, and I've been subjected to Rushdie's endless seemingly profound hot air. He seems to have wrote most of this from his stream of consciousness, and I can recal nothing interesting had had to say. I stuck with him because I was shocked that this exalted author could so disappoint, but he was as bad at the end as in the middle. I've calibrated myself on "highbrow" stuff, and his ain't.
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Format: Paperback
The best book of Salman Rushdie.Great saga on over 50 years about the rock culture.
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