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I feel as if I’ve always known who Salman Rushdie is. He sat in my consciousness as the author of this eerie-sounding novel called “The Satanic Verses,” a novel so somehow dangerous, he had to go into hiding after Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini, the supreme leader of Iran, said Rushdie and anyone involved in its publication should be killed for blaspheming Islam.

In August of 2022, more than 30 years after the fatwa, a fanatic with a knife attacked and tried to kill Rushdie. He survived, though he lost an eye. His latest book, “Knife: Meditations After an Attempted Murder,” is about the attack and its aftermath. But it’s also about his life. It’s about his marriage. It’s about his children. And it’s about the invention of other versions of him that became more real in the world than he was, other versions of him that almost got him killed.

This is what I now understand after reading “Knife,” what I now understand after I went and read, for the first time, “The Satanic Verses”: I have never known who Salman Rushdie is. And maybe not just him. How many people out there do I wrongly think that I know?

Rushdie and I talked for an episode of my podcast. This is an edited transcript of our conversation.

Ezra Klein: I want to begin with a story you mention a little bit offhandedly in the book: “The Shadow” by Hans Christian Andersen.

Salman Rushdie: I think it’s my favorite story of his. It’s about a man whose shadow gets detached from him and goes away.

For many years, he loses his shadow. The shadow has traveled the world. The shadow is quite sophisticated and cool and in some ways is more interesting than the man. The shadow returns and the man and the shadow spend some time together. Then the man meets this princess, who he’s very taken by and interested in. And the princess decides that she prefers the shadow to the man, and actually the shadow manages to persuade her that he’s the real thing and the man is the echo or the phony or the shadow.

And in the end, the shadow manages to arrange for the man to be executed. So the shadow takes over the life of the man.

So what did that story mean to you?

It meant to me that a thing that happens — more and more often, I think — is that a shadow self can separate itself from the person and end up becoming, in some way, more real than the original person. People believe the shadow and don’t believe the self.

If I’d asked you in 1986, to describe how you understood yourself, what would your capsule sense of Salman Rushdie have been?

The ’80s were a very good decade for me. It began in 1981 with the publication and success of “Midnight’s Children,” which was important to me for a number of reasons.

First of all, because it was my first literary success, and there’s nothing quite like first success. And secondly, it financially allowed me to begin to live as a writer, rather than having to work in advertising, which I’d been doing.

It also deeply reconnected me to India. I had worried, living in London, that I was kind of drifting away from those roots. The novel was a very conscious attempt to try and reclaim them. And that was actually what made me happiest about the reception of the book — was the way in which it was received in India.

What was your public reputation at the time?

I had become identified as one of a rising group of British-based writers. Writers like Ian McEwan and Kazuo Ishiguro and Martin Amis and Angela Carter and Jeanette Winterson. I also had become perhaps a little bit more politically engaged than some of the others. So I had written and done things on television about racism in England and postcolonialism, the remnants of the empire, and so I was also associated with that kind of subject. Then came “The Satanic Verses,” and it changed everything.

When you began writing “The Satanic Verses,” what kind of book did you think you were writing?

I was writing these three stories. One was about a character named Gibreel, which is the Indian version of Gabriel, who was a movie actor who’s losing his mind and arrives rather dramatically, as a result of an airplane explosion, in 1980s London, at a time when the race relations situation was quite tense. This was the period of Margaret Thatcher’s government.

I guess what I thought I was doing was thinking about what happens to people when they migrate from one culture to another and how much of their identity is brought into question by doing that. They’re suddenly in a language that isn’t their first language, and they’re in a community that doesn’t know them. They very often are surrounded by belief systems different from their own. They face all these challenges.

And I remember thinking I should try and make the novel itself that kind of challenge. And so the question of religious belief becomes one of the subjects of the book — Gibreel having these dreams about the birth of a religion. And I thought I’d made sufficient distance, because in the novel and in his dreams, the religion is not called Islam and the prophet is not called Muhammad and the city is not called Mecca. All this is happening in the dreams of somebody who’s losing his mind.

I thought, you know, this is what we call fiction. Some people took it the wrong way.

What is the actual story you tell in the book that causes the offense?

Well, of course, the people who attacked the book had not read it. So there’s that.

There is a well-known story that is in many of the traditions of Islam. To put it simply, there were three very successful popular winged goddesses in Mecca at the time whose temples were at the gates of the city. This is a big trading city, so people would come and go through the gates, and they would make offerings at these temples — or, put it another way, they would pay taxes.

The families that ran these temples were very wealthy and powerful in the city. And so the theory is that the Prophet was offered a deal, and the story goes that he comes down from the mountain and recites some verses which accept the status of these goddesses at the level of the angels. And then it seems as if there was a lot of opposition to his statement from amongst the new faithful.

And after a short period of time, he rejects those verses, and he says that the devil spoke to him in the guise of the angel and that these were satanic verses which should be expunged from the Quran, which they were, and replaced by other verses in which he discounts these goddesses.

So that’s the episode about a possible temptation and then the rejection of the temptation. I came across this story when I was at university, when I was at Cambridge. One of the things I was studying was early Islamic history. And I remember thinking, you know, good story. That was 1968. Twenty years later, I find out how good a story it was.

To the best of your understanding now, why does the fatwa happen?

Well, there’s a political reason why it happens, which is that chronologically the moment in Iran at which it happened was very soon after the end of the Iran-Iraq war, in which essentially a whole generation of young Iranian people had died for no gain.

The revolution was probably more unpopular and in greater danger at that moment than at any other moment. And I think, frankly, Khomeini was looking for a way of rallying the troops, and unfortunately, I became it.

People involved with the book in other countries were attacked and killed, which is something I did not know.

The worst thing was the Japanese translator of the book, who was a college professor who was actually a specialist in Islamic history and art, was murdered one night near his office on campus in Japan. My Italian translator was attacked at his residence and fortunately survived. My Norwegian publisher was shot several times in the back while getting up in the morning to go to work. He also miraculously survived.

I felt horrible, because they felt like proxy attacks. They really wanted me. They couldn’t get at me, so they got at them.

And I remember calling William Nygaard, who is my Norwegian publisher, to apologize to him.........

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