“The Golden House”, recently published by Random House (coincidence?), is Salman Rushdie’s attempt at writing a great American novel. The book, rather his thirteenth attempt at one, features many characters and takes place in New York and Mumbai. Now, I’m going to be honest with you, that is really all I know about it. You see, I never actually finished reading the fucker. It was just too damn boring. I got about five pages in and just thought “Fuck This!” However, I was commissioned to review my experience with the book, and thus I shall.
While I hated all aspects of the book’s plot, prose, and overall style, I loved the book’s size and hard bound cover. It made for the perfect object to jam under my bedroom door as a door stop.
At first I wondered whether it would fit, or whether it would be big and heavy enough to hold the door. However, as I jammed that book in between the end of the bottom of the door and my bedroom floor, I knew it would be perfect.
Now, I know what you’re probably thinking, I just spent $28 on a door stop! Well, actually I didn’t. Random House, Rushdie’s publisher, sent me a copy to review; so, it was free.
Yet, all of this really just applies to me. So for you, the average reader, I would reccomend passing on “The Golden House”. Frankly, I don’t really know what it’s about, but it really seems like it’s only good for either door stopping or putting one to sleep.
Instead, if one is searching for a relevant, great American novel to fill the void, I recommend the following:
“Not That Kind of Girl” by Lena Dunham (Random House).
“My Rise and Fall” by Benito Mussolini (Da Capo Press).
“Shooting Staight: Guns, Gays, God, and George Clooney” by Piers Morgan (Gallery Books).