“If old age was thought of as an evening, ending in midnight oblivion, they were well within the eleventh hour.”
That quote from the first story in Salman Rushdie’s new collection, The Eleventh Hour: A Quintet of Stories (Random House 2025), pretty much sums up the work as a whole; in these five stories, falling somewhere between short and novella length, Rushdie tackles growing old and death, particularly as it relates to those who tell stories. The collection ends with “The Old Man in the Piazza,” closing with “our words fail us.”
Rushdie is a masterful storyteller whose words never fail. I don’t think it surprises anyone that I positively love the way he tells a story. The writing is always witty and sharp, distinctively Rushie; I just adore his chatty, narrative voice. My favorite of the five is likely “Late,” which is a ghost story about an author whose secrets must be revealed before he can cross into the afterlife. The longest of the collection is “The Musician of Kahani,” which highlights perfectly how Rushdie plays with words and the satirical wit he’s known for. (The musician’s father abandons the family to make soup for the “Man in the Moon” – a fanatical cult leader. The musician calls him home with her playing. Upon realizing the magical powers of her sitar playing, she sets out on revenge. Rushdie uses “best eaten cold” instead of “best served cold,” which admittedly threw me off; however, while “served” is more common, “eaten” came first, and I am going to overthink his use for days. ha)
It’s a great collection. My favorite Rushdie is The Moor’s Last Sigh, but this is the first Rushdie I’ve read in at least a decade, and it did not disappoint.
A Girl Named Tommi 