The Enchantress of Florence (2008)

In June 2007, Queen Elizabeth II announced that she was conferring a knighthood on Rushdie. This aroused afresh issues that have dogged him over the past twenty years not only among traditional Muslims around the world (it seemed to them an accolade bestowed on a global symbol of hostility to traditional Islam) but also among British conservatives who believed that he was again endangering Britain’s security. Iran reaffirmed the death sentence. A Pakistani government minister suggested that the award justified suicide bombings. Al-Qaeda’s second-in-command Ayman al-Zawahari warned that it was preparing a ‘precise response’ to Britain’s decision. Rushdie’s political kin were contemptuous that an avowed leftist should accept such an imperial honour. Even to critics, it seemed ‘to confirm his rejection of a more radical, anti-establishment position’.1 Such political interpretations are wrong and unnecessary, though understandable in the context of a politically charged atmosphere. It was not that Rushdie, just as much as Darius Cama, had his British dream or that the British Empire was going down on its knees. The knighthood showed that Rushdie had reached an eminence as a writer and there was no reason for him to refuse it. He was accepting it as an honour due to him. After it was conferred in 2008, he said: ‘This is an honour not for any specific book but for a very long career in writing and I’m happy to see that recognized.’ 2 In fact, it is not unique but a part of a pattern. V. S. Naipaul accepted a knighthood before Rushdie. It may also be a part of Britain’s desire to show even-handedness, to honour eminent writers whether British or not, and to signal that immigrant writers can acquire close connections to British literary culture.