On occasion a novel receives harsh treatment from critics not based on the actual work, but rather because it is not what the critics want it to be; this then is the only explanation I can find to explain the harsh, often shrill, reviews received by Rushdie's equisite "The Enchantress of Florence." Having read several of these negative assessments I find the same sub-text runs through them all, namely the complaint that "Enchantress" is neither Rushdie's masterwork "Midnight's Children" nor that lesser work for which he became broadly famous - or in other circles infamous - "The Satanic Verses." To be sure, "Enchantress" is a far different book than Rushdie's previous work, less meditative and more fantastical, yet what is the problem with a great writer branching out into new genres and worlds? While I have loved several of his earlier work, for his choice to create the extraordinary world of "Enchantress" I celebrate Rushdie's genius and thank him for giving me what I can only describe as an extraordinary read. 
 Other reviewers have offered excellent plot synopsis of "The Enchantress of Florence" and therefore I will offer only the briefest details of the story lines. A blond haired stranger, calling himself Mogor del'Amore (the Mughal of Love) appears in the quasi-magical city of Akbar, the Mughal King of Kings. The stranger claims to be the descendant of Akbar's grandfather's lost younger sister, carried into captivity earlier. He regales Akbar with the tale of the "lost princess" and how she journeyed across Eurasia and found herself eventually in the city of Florence. Overtime a horde of historical personages make appearances, some major, others less so, such as members of the Medici family and Machiavelli. 
 The story itself is so rich with detail that on occasion the reader feels as if they have been a guest at a feast. One constantly questions which details are true and which are products of Rushdie's extraordinary imagination. Interestingly, Rushdie spent years researching this work and in interviews claims that much of what one might think the most fantastical - the Shi'a monarch who uses his enemy's skull as a drinking goblet or the Ottoman Caliph who's gardeners double as his executioners - are in fact the ones that are true. On occasion on really wishes that there were a study guide to go along with the book. 
 Like the best fairy tales, Rushdie's "Enchantress" layers in many deep and vexing questions that transcend any age: What does it mean to be real? What is the good life? How can one be happy? All of this arrives in a story written with such incomparable talent, that one can not easily put it down. "The Enchantress of Florence" may not have been the work that the critics wanted Rushdie to write, but I have little doubt that in generations to come, readers will recognize it as among his greatest works.