I have just finished a short book by Salman Rushdie entitled Home. Rather than being an independent piece, it consists of a number of essays culled from his other published works, all of which have a focus on this subject of what it means to be at home or to have a home. That puts it at an interesting intersection, between an introduction to an author’s style and musings on a theme. For the publisher – Penguin, as part of their Vintage Minis collection –  that is a splendid wheeze, pinning two distinct baits to the same hook. It is a also a good choice for libraries, creating a more public profit, and that is where I came across it.

Rushdie was born in India but educated in England. He writes as an emigrant and immigrant, aware that his sense of home cannot easily rest in just one place or the other. It makes for a stimulating read. Mind you (spoiler alert), the spell was dented when I glanced over the biographical thumbnail at the very end of the book, which concludes, “He lives primarily in New York”! I wonder if he feels at home there?