In a sad city, the saddest of cities, a city so ruinously sad that it had
forgotten its name, lived a professional storyteller named Rashid and his son
Haroun.' Thus begins Rushdie’s magical and delightful book, which is comprised
of hundreds of stories, funny and sad, all of them juggled at once, together
with sorcery and love, wicked uncles and fat aunts, and mustachioed gangsters in
yellow check pants.