It was more than a decade ago when I was introduced to the work of Salman Rushdie, thanks to the recommendation of a writer in my homeland of Pakistan. As an aspiring writer myself, I was always told that to become really good, you have to “read, read and read”. Yet I often found I had already read the authors who were recommended to me, easily available as their works were in my country.
But when a writer insisted I must read Rushdie, the stakes were raised. I loved many writers living in exile, from Márquez to Kundera. But Rushdie was the first writer for me who had caused so much anger in the Muslim world and enraged some fanatics.
