Elif Shafak
The Island of Missing Trees by Elif Shafak alternates between three timelines: London in the late 2010s, Cyprus in 1974 on the brink of a civil war between Turkish Cypriots and Greek Cypriots, and Cyprus in the 2000s with the islanders picking up the pieces after the end of civil war.
The novel opens with a description of a divided Cyprus. It slowly zeros in on two men at the bottom of a well. They had been kidnapped, murdered, chained to each other, and thrown into the well at the height of the conflict. The timeline then shifts to London in the late 2010s where we meet sixteen-year-old Ada and her father. Through alternating timelines and changing locations, we learn the story of Ada’s parents—her Greek father, Kostas, and her Turkish mother, Defne. Theirs is a story of forbidden love.
Kostas and Defne’s clandestine meetings take place in a tavern known as The Happy Fig. When violence in Cyprus escalates, Kostas is sent to England by his widowed mother. The two lovers are separated for several years. Kostas re-connects with Defne on his return to Cyprus. The two marry and start a life together in England. When the novel opens in 2010, Defne has died, and Ada and her father struggle to deal with their loss.
In addition to the shifting timelines and locations, there is a shift in point of view. The novel alternates between third person and first-person narrative. Oddly enough, the first-person point of view is spoken by the fig tree that was once housed in the Cyprus tavern. Kostas smuggles a cutting of the tree on his visit to Cyprus and transplants it in London where he nurtures it and helps it survive the new eco-system.
The fig tree narrative serves two main purposes. Firstly, it provides backstories: the looming civil war, the fate of the missing tavern owners, Defne’s predicament after Kostas’ disappearance, and the re-location of the Kostas family to England. Adopting a human voice and human emotions, the fig tree compares tree behavior with human behavior, with the latter understandably coming up short.
Secondly, the fig tree narrative also includes extensive scientific information about trees—how they communicate with one another, share resources, warn each other of impending danger, the differences between species, etc. This information would be familiar to anyone who has read any of the recent spate of non-fiction books about trees, including Peter Wohlleben’s The Hidden Life of Trees. But herein lies the problem. This extensive exploration of the tree world is jarringly out of place in a novel with a Romeo and Juliet story of forbidden love set against the backdrop of civil unrest. Much of this information would have been more suitable in a scientific journal.
A transplanted fig tree may well serve as a metaphor for displaced lives. But it is stretching the metaphor a little too far when a fig tree interrupts the narrative to share historical information; to disclose updates it has garnered from an ant, mosquito, or bird; to tout the superiority of trees; to declare its love for Kostas; and to pontificate on the devastating impact of civil war. Filling in the details of the island’s history and its inhabitants by relying on the intrusive narrative of an anthropomorphized fig tree, even with its concluding twist, borders on mawkishness. The human characters and their stories in this novel are compelling enough to stand on their own without the aid of a chattering fig tree.
Recommended with reservations.