Quichotte by Salman Rushdie

It has been more than 40 years since I have read Cervantes' Don Quixote, but I am now altogether certain that I missed most of the jokes and the sly satire tat almost certainly was there, judging from this modernized retelling of the epic journey.
The land is America in the post-2016 landscape.  No longer is it the land of opportunity, but rather it is back to the pre-civil rights era of open racism being tolerated, even encouraged at the highest levels of government. 

The knight batting at windmills is a dapper older man named Ismail Smile who loses his job as a pharmaceutical salesman and sets off across America with a teenage son he has dreamed up named Sancho. Ismail hopes to win the heart of a young TV star named Salma, a fellow Indian-American, whose television tell all show has made her “Oprah 2.0”. He has never met her but he sends love letters under the pen name “Quichotte”, believing “love will find a way” of bringing them together.  It doesn't go well, but you already know that because the story is an old one and it is the details that bring the story into the present.   On their travels, Quichotte and Sancho duly encounter racists, opioids, humans who turn into mastodons, crickets who speak Italian and guns that talk.  Just an everyday happening in the magical kingdom of America.