Ten Minutes, Thirty-Eight Seconds in this Strange World

Elif Shafak

Ten Minutes, Thirty-Eight Seconds in this Strange World by Elif Shafak opens with the death of Tequila Leila, a prostitute in Istanbul. She has been murdered and her body thrown into a dumpster. Exploring the notion that the human mind remains active for several minutes after physical death, Shafak takes us into the mind of Leila during the liminal phase between death but not quite death. She records the minutes and seconds from the time of Leila’s death until her brain finally shuts down. Leila’s story unfolds against the backdrop of a time of civil strife in Turkey with historical events incorporated into the storyline.

Part 1 consists of Leila’s recollections of pivotal moments in her life. Each flashback is triggered by smell and taste. She recalls her early childhood; her family; her experience with repeated sexual assaults, beginning when she was just a child; running away from home; her life in Istanbul; her time as a prostitute; her marriage; and her murder. Interspersed throughout her recollections are brief back stories of her five close friends, all of whom are misfits living on the fringes of society. Part 2 consists of Leila’s friends retrieving her body from the Cemetery of the Companionless to give her a proper burial. And Part 3, only several pages long, consists of Leila’s taste of freedom as her corpse is released into the sea.

Part 1, the longest and strongest part of the novel, immerses the reader in the sights, sounds, smells, and ambience of Istanbul. Bustling with life, inhabited by an ethnically and racially diverse population, Istanbul radiates energy. It is riddled with contradictions, celebrating difference on the one hand, demonizing it on the other. Leila’s narrative exposes the seamy side of Istanbul, an ominous place where danger can lurk behind every corner, especially for a woman. Leila’s five friends are introduced through short, hasty sketches of information. Unfortunately, these do not allow for character development, so the five never emerge as well-rounded, authentic characters. Instead, they are reduced to caricatures.

This failing becomes even more pronounced in Part 2 where Leila’s friends retrieve her body from the cemetery. The dialogue sounds stiff and unnatural. The language lapses into clichés; the action verges on slapstick. The flashbacks of their conversations or incidents with Leila give the appearance of afterthoughts, of being haphazardly inserted. And Part 3, in which Leila’s soul finds freedom in the sea, is maudlin.

A book with an interesting premise and strong start disappoints when it fizzles out into mawkish, melodramatic farce.

Mr. Loverman

Bernardine Evaristo

Mr. Loverman by Bernardine Evaristo introduces us to the delightful 74-year-old Barrington Jedidiah Walker (Barry), born in Antigua and transplanted to Hackney, London.

Barry is a dapper, flamboyant, Shakespeare-quoting successful businessman, husband to Carmel for fifty years, father to Donna and Maxine, and grandfather to the teenaged Daniel. Carmel is convinced Barry stays out late at night because he cheats on her with other women. She’s wrong—and right. Barry has never cheated on Carmel with another woman. And he never will. But that’s not to say he hasn’t cheated. Barry has a secret lover by the name of Morris. The two have been closeted lovers since their boyhood days in Antigua. Their ongoing love affair has lasted decades and continues into their adult life in London.

The novel unfolds primarily in the first-person voice of Barry. He is witty, sarcastic, intelligent, generous, full of vim and vigor, with an endearing and magnetic personality. He is also chauvinistic, homophobic, and unconscionably selfish for deceiving his wife for so many decades. Barry’s narrative is interrupted with Carmel’s first-person voice. Carmel’s monologues are sheer poetry. The unpunctuated, rhythmic lyricism of her language is breathtaking. Her cadence is captured so well that one can almost hear her speak. She talks to herself, chastises herself, recalls her past, her hopes and aspirations, and her disappointment in marriage and in the man she married.

The alternating narrators shift back and forth in time. Through their narratives we learn the back story of Barry and Carmel, their marriage, their relocation to England, the birth of their daughters, Carmel’s pursuit of a degree, her career, and Barry’s business success. Their lives are peppered with the presence of Carmel’s life-long, church-going friends who are never short of gossip or advice, but who are always there to support each other. And then, of course, there’s the kind, gentle, lovable Morris.

All the characters have distinct, unique voices. They are authentic, and so well drawn, they can step off the page. The novel moves at a brisk pace. The dialog sizzles. The bond between Barry and Morris is deep-seated and enduring. They know one another so well they can almost read each other’s thoughts, finish each other’s sentences. Their conversations are crisp and entertaining and choke full of humor.

The novel explores a multitude of themes: intergenerational conflicts; love in its various manifestations; homophobia; gender socialization and identity; misogyny; aging; race relations; and masculinity. The themes are intricately woven together, finding expression in a cast of delightful, unforgettable characters all of whom rotate, gravitate, oscillate toward the hilarious, exasperating, unforgettable, and totally charming Barry, their axis mundi.

Highly recommended for its humor and brilliant character portrayals.

The Patience Stone

Atiq Rahimi; trans. Polly McLean

The Patience Stone by Atiq Rahimi, translated from the French by Polly McLean, takes place in a single room in a city in Afghanistan during the Taliban regime. It is primarily in the form of a young wife’s monologue to her comatose husband. He has a bullet lodged in his neck and appears to be brain dead. The unnamed woman ministers to his wounds, puts drops in his eyes, bathes him regularly, feeds him through a feeding tube, and prays for him. All the while she talks to him and pleads with him to wake up.

The monologue is punctuated with the sound of explosions and gun shots. The woman enters and leaves the room in periodic intervals to take care of her two young daughters. After two Taliban fighters invade her home, she takes her daughters to her aunt for safe keeping. She leaves her husband in the room with the intention of never coming back. But she always comes back to minister to him.

With each of her returns she becomes increasingly more vocal about the injustices and abuse she experienced from him and from some members of his family. She confronts him with his inadequacies and impotence, revealing this is the first time in their decade-old marriage she has felt she could be totally honest with him. She punctures the inflated egos and hypocrisies of men, including her husband. Once the floodgates of silence are opened, her words gush out in a torrent. Her language is raw and brutally honest. This leads to a perverse intimacy in which she kisses him on the lips—something he had never allowed her to do. Eventually, she claims him as her Sang-e-Saboor, her patience stone to which she can unburden all her guilty secrets. And unburden them she does with shocking revelations about prostitution and sexual infidelity, all of which lead to the final explosive crescendo.

The novel unfolds in sparse, staccato language. The atmosphere is confined and claustrophobic. The fear is palpable. The noise of explosions and gunfire, the Taliban invasions of the space where a defenseless woman huddles in the corner reinforce the terror of the situation. The woman’s many entrances, exits, and movements read like virtual stage directions, giving the novel the feel of a play.

The winner of the 2008 Prix Goncourt, this novella is highly recommended for its compelling treatment of the injustices and grievances experienced by many women in Afghanistan and the desperate measures they take to survive.

A Quiet Revolution: The Veil's Resurgence, From the Middle East to America

Leila Ahmed

In A Quiet Revolution: The Veil’s Resurgence, from the Middle East to America, Leila Ahmed explores the evolution of veiling beginning with Cairo in the 1940s and culminating in the 21st Century. She grounds her research on the influence of historical and political movements in Egypt, the permutations of various Islamic groups, and the role of Saudi Arabia in spreading Wahhabism in the United States and Europe.

Veiling has always been embroiled with political movements in one way or another. During the 1940s and 1950s, while Cairo was under the influence of Western colonialism, veiling was deemed a relic of the “backwardness” of the Arab world, a symbol of the culture’s misogynistic treatment of women. Accordingly, educated middle-class women removed the veil and entered the work force and institutions of higher education in increasing numbers.

Since then, veiling has experienced a resurgence. Ahmed conducts interviews with both veiled and unveiled women to chart the changing attitudes toward veiling. She learns why they chose to veil or why they chose to remove their veils. Their reasons are diverse but, surprisingly, their choice was not indicative of their commitment or lack of commitment to Islam. Some women did not veil because they were convinced the religion doesn’t require it. Other pursued the opposite trajectory, arguing their choice of clothing symbolizes pride in their identity. But in all cases, their belief in Islam as a religion of political activism advocating for social equity, including gender equity, is unwavering.

Ahmed claims the new generation of American Muslims do not see a contradiction between being American and being a Muslim. In fact, the opposite is true. They argue Islam promotes the same ideals espoused in America and are vocal in their support for minorities and in their demands for social justice. They challenge traditional readings of the role of women in Islam, insisting Islam does not advocate the subordination of women since it is a religion of social justice and equity. As Ahmed says:

It is not, by and large, secular American Muslims nor American Muslims for whom religion is a private matter but rather the children of Islamists who are notably present in and at the forefront of the activist American and American Muslim struggles of our times: be it against torture, erosions of civil rights, racial profiling, the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan and other foreign policy issues, and also in the cause of women’s rights and gay rights in relation to Islam.

At the conclusion of her study, Ahmed admits her research has caused her to experience a change in attitude about the veil.

Following out this story and focusing in particular in the last chapters on American Muslim women’s activism in relation to gender and women’s rights has brought me to the astonishing conclusion that it is after all Islamists and the children of Islamists—the very people whose presence in this country had originally alarmed me—who were now in the vanguard of those who were most fully and rapidly assimilating into the distinctively American tradition of activism in pursuit of justice and who now essentially made up the vanguard of those who are struggling for women’s rights in Islam.

Ahmed includes extensive notes, bibliography, and index in her insightful study of the veil’s resurgence and the growing activism of Muslim American women. The work is highly recommended for any who seek an understanding of women’s changing role in Islam.

Territory of Light

Yuko Tsushima ; translated by Geraldine Harcourt

Territory of Light by Yuko Tsushima, translated from the Japanese by Geraldine Harcourt, was originally published in twelve installments in a Japanese literary journal. It consists of a series of twelve fragmentary episodes chronicling one year in the life of a young mother recently separated from her husband. Unfolding in the first-person point of view, the narrator records her struggles with finding an apartment on her own, juggling employment while raising her three-year-old daughter, the tense interactions with her husband, and her loneliness.

After moving into her apartment, the narrator describes the tedium of her daily routine: waking up, getting her daughter ready for daycare, dropping her off, heading to work, picking her daughter up, shopping, dinner, and bed. She is mentally drained and physically exhausted through it all. To add to her distress are unannounced appearances from her estranged husband and her daughter who throws tantrums, cries at night, and wets her bed.

The narrator’s plight generates sympathy, but the narrator is not a sympathetic character. She is distant, awkward, immature, irresponsible, isolated, impatient with her daughter, and, at times, abusive toward her. Her veneer isolates her from other characters, as well as from the reader. The narrative is disjointed and fragmented. One incident follows another with little to no connection between them, possibly due to its publication in monthly installments as separate episodes. The detailed description of the mundane activities of her daily life coupled with her interiority become repetitive and redundant, failing to sustain interest or generate sympathy.

The strength of the novel lies in its stunning use of light imagery. The narrator’s lens is sensitive to the play of light all around her, whether it is the light dancing on the red floor of her apartment, the sunlight streaming through the windows, the shimmering light reflected on the silver roof, the sparkle of fireworks, the flashing neon signs, or the chemical explosion of a building. These images somewhat redeem the novel from its otherwise lackluster narrative and flat characters.

Nothing Holds Back the Night

Delphine de Vigan; translated by George Miller

Nothing Holds Back the Night by Delphine de Vigan, translated from the French by George Miller, hovers between fiction, memoir, and a biography of de Vigan’s mother. It opens with the shocking scene of the author discovering her mother’s corpse, the result of an apparent suicide.

To understand her mother and the reasons for the suicide, de Vigan embarks on a project to write her mother’s biography. She combs through her mother’s papers, conducts interviews with the surviving members of the family, reads diaries, scrutinizes photographs, and watches old videos to piece together her mother’s childhood. This section is as much a portrait of a family as it is a portrait of de Vigan’s mother. The author tries to reconstruct her mother’s childhood environment, growing up in a rambunctious home with Bohemian parents and eight siblings. She imagines and embellishes scenes and conversations, attributing thoughts, feelings, and motivations to individuals. This section is fictional in approach with the author describing the childhood of her mother, aunts, and uncles as if they are characters in a novel.

The second part of the book shifts in tone as the author describes first-hand experience with her mother. She includes her sister’s recollections and conversations and the experiences they shared. She provides a litany of her mother’s failures, short-comings, and struggles: failure to be a responsible and responsive parent; an addiction to drugs and alcohol; a divorce; multiple lovers; erratic mood swings; manic episodes; hallucinations; mental illness; diagnosis of bi-polar disorder; repeated stays at various mental institutions; a complete breakdown in which she tries to stick needles in her daughter’s eyes; and cancer. The author also describes periods of stability in her mother’s life when she is on her medication.

Threaded throughout this part biography, part memoir, part fiction are whole sections in which the author engages in self-examination. She expresses her anxiety about conveying an accurate portrait of her mother. She has doubts about completing the project, stops in the middle of describing a situation to pose questions to herself as if groping to find answers that are just out of reach. The work is replete with the author’s introspective self-doubts, with her struggle to understand, and with the burden of responsibility she feels to do justice to her mother’s memory.

What emerges from this dark, gripping book is a daughter’s portrait of a mother who is beautiful, mysterious, introspective, tortured, distant, and courageous—a mother who suffered childhood traumas, including a possible sexual assault that may have triggered her mental instability. What also emerges is the love the author feels for her mother and the respect she has for her mother’s courageous battles with her inner demons.

The Barefoot Woman

Scholastique Mukasonga; translated by Jordan Stump

The Barefoot Woman by Scholastique Mukasonga, translated from the French by Jordan Stump, is a loving tribute to Mukasonga’s mother, Stefania. Mukasonga delivers this tribute in the form of a memoir. She describes her family’s life after they were forcibly deported from their homes in Rwanda by the Hutus in a horrific episode of ethnic cleansing. Forced to relocate, they had to eke out a living as best they could. Terrorized by Hutu militias because of their Tutsi ethnicity, their lives were frequently interrupted by Hutus clamoring into their homes, stealing their possessions, destroying their crops, raping their women, and killing their sons and husbands.

Through it all, Mukasonga’s mother tries to hold the family together. Her unwavering focus is on saving her children. She is ever on the alert for the sound of approaching soldiers. She hides food in the bush for her children in case they ever need to make a hasty getaway to Burundi to avoid being massacred. She trains them to be ready at a moment’s notice to hide and even runs practice drills for them to make sure they know where to go.

Mukasonga describes her mother’s efforts to create a loving environment for her children. She praises her ability to make do with little. From her mother, she learns housekeeping skills, cooking, the rituals involved in growing sorghum, which traditional medicines heal specific ailments, various beauty treatments, the ceremonies around birth and marriage, and the role of storytelling in the preservation and transmission of culture. Above all, she honors her mother for her toughness, her resilience, and her unflagging devotion to her family.

The memoir opens with Mukasonga’s mother reminding her daughters to cover her body when she dies since no one must see a mother’s corpse. Mukasonga regrets she wasn’t there to cover her mother’s body when she was killed because her body was never discovered. She does the next best thing. She gives voice to her mother’s indomitable nature and celebrates the traditions she embraced in the hope her words will be the shroud which enable her mother’s spirit to rest.

Recommended.

Alice's Adventures in Wonderland

Lewis Carroll

Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll, illustrated by Arthur Rackham, is a whimsical delight enjoyed by young and old, alike. A host of memorable talking creatures, Mad Hatter tea parties, riddles, puns galore, mushrooms to make you grow or shrink in size, and other nonsensical events are seen through the eyes of Alice, a young girl with the curiosity and wonderment of a child. The novel’s influence is still felt more than 150 years after its publication. The characters and events have become a frame of reference—a sort of shorthand for the nonsensical; expressions such as, “falling down a rabbit hole” and “curiouser and curiouser” have become part of the English lexicon.

This nudge into a fantasy world with eccentric characters, playful language, and a young girl as our guide may be just what the doctor ordered. The escape from rational thinking by turning reason upside down and inside out can be a refreshing reprieve so long as we remember to emerge from the rabbit hole.

Human Acts

Han Kang; translated by Deborah Smith

Human Acts by Han Kang, translated from the Korean by Deborah Smith, focuses on the 1980 Gwangju uprising in South Korea. Deborah Smith provides historical context of the uprising in the introduction. The two decades of the military dictatorship of Park Chung Hee were followed by another military dictatorship, that of the army general, Chun Doo-hwan. The people of Gwangju, led by student demonstrators, revolted against the military dictatorship, demanding democratic freedoms and better working conditions. Lasting for ten days, the Gwangju uprising was met with brutality, torture, and the massacre of hundreds of unarmed civilians. It is against this backdrop that Han Kang situates her novel.

The novel is divided into seven sections. Six of the sections are from individuals who experienced the uprising and its aftermath, including torture and rape. The six are all connected either through employment or friendship or as family. The seventh section, the Epilogue, veers away from fiction to fact by chronicling what prompted the author to research the Gwangju massacre, its impact on her life, and her decision to write a novel about it.

The novel opens with fifteen-year-old Dong-ho joining a group of civilians in the Provincial Office recently transformed into an improvised mortuary to deal with the influx of bodies. Dong-ho has been tasked with recording what information he can about the mountain of bodies piling up in hallways and rooms. His colleagues wash the bodies and cover them with sheets to afford them some dignity until family members can identify them and pick them up for burial. The next section is the ghost of Dong-ho’s friend. Killed by the army, he describes his body unceremoniously carted off in a truck and dumped with a pile of other rotting bodies before all are set ablaze. This is followed by sections from an editor, a prisoner, a factory girl, Dong-ho’s mother on the 30th anniversary of his death, and the Epilogue.

Each section describes in graphic detail the torture, the rape, the mutilation, the bludgeoning and shooting of innocent civilians. That human beings are capable of such inhumane acts is difficult to fathom. Through her characters, Han Kang shows survivors of the uprising as haunted for the rest of their lives by what they witnessed, what they personally experienced, and the loved ones they lost. Their psychological trauma remains unabated.

This is not an easy book to read. The descriptions are graphic; the horror is relentless; the violence is raw, brutal, and unflinching. The novel poses questions about the nature of humanity. What impact does a crowd have on individual behavior? Does crowd behavior compel us to perpetrate acts of unspeakable violence or acts of exceptional bravery or both? Are human beings naturally prone to inflicting such brutality and pain on one another? How does one confront such brutality? And how does one recover from it—assuming recovery is even possible?

Skillfully executed, gut-wrenching, immersive, and compelling, this is an important read. It is highly recommended but not for those who find it too distressing to read graphic descriptions of man’s inhumanity to man.

We Need New Names

NoViolet Bulawayo

We Need New Names by NoViolet Bulawayo unfolds in the first-person point of view of ten-year old Darling in Zimbabwe. Darling lives in a shanty town, ironically named Paradise. She is without consistent adult supervision and spends her time running riot with her gang of friends, playing games, stealing guavas, supporting each other, calling each other names, and generally getting into mischief.

Darling and her young friends suffer from bouts of hunger due to food shortages. They are surrounded by tragedy and violence: a young woman hangs from a tree; a mob invades the home of a white couple, destroys their possessions, and defecates on their floor; Darling’s father dies of AIDS; a man is brutally beaten and ferreted away by the authorities. Darling’s young friend is raped by her grandfather and now carries his child. The children are feral, dirty, hungry, barefoot, and clothed in tatters. Despite these horrendous hardships, Darling’s voice is fresh, young, and engaging. She is astute, sensitive, resilient, street smart, and with a keen eye for observation and an ability to decipher the moods of adults. She can also be very funny.

With no transition, the second half of the novel finds Darling living with her aunt in Michigan. She is torn between adjusting to her new environment and homesickness. She dislikes the intense cold and snow of Michigan but is gratified by the abundance and availability of food. She learns life in America has its benefits as well as its disappointments. Constantly reminded of her outsider status while living in fear of deportation because she is an illegal immigrant, Darling adopts the language and mannerisms of an American teenager to blend in with her new environment.

The plot structure of the novel is episodic in nature. The accumulation of events in Zimbabwe eventually coalesce to form a picture of life there. Darling does not shy away from describing the hardships. Her feelings of humiliation when aid workers take photos of the children covered in dirt and wearing torn clothing is poignant. The children tolerate the embarrassment and accommodate with smiles in exchange for gifts. But despite its challenges, Zimbabwe provides Darling with a sense of belonging, a community, and friends with whom she shares common experiences—qualities she doesn’t fully come to value until they are no longer available to her. This section throbs with vitality and energy.

The second section of the book lacks the vibrancy and immediacy of the opening half. Darling seems to drift aimlessly, recording one experience after another. The series of episodes chart her sense of alienation in America as well as her growing estrangement from family and friends in Zimbabwe. She straddles between two cultures and feels the pain of being an outsider in both. She gradually realizes she is a displaced individual who no longer has a place to call home.

Bulawayo skillfully captures the intensity and communal life in Zimbabwe with vivid details and realistic dialogue. And through Darling, she captures the alienation of a first-generation immigrant torn between two cultures. Darling must abandon her old identity and adopt a new one, a new beginning and that calls for new names.

Recommended.

History Begins at Sumer: Thirty-Nine Firsts in Recorded History

Samuel Noah Kramer

History Begins at Sumer: Thirty-Nine Firsts in Recorded History by Samuel Noah Kramer, a leading Sumerologist, provides a fascinating look at cuneiform tablets detailing the achievements of the Sumerians of 4,000 years ago, a people who lived in what is now southern Iraq.

Piecing together various clay tablets, some of which are scattered in different museums across the globe, Professor Kramer translates and compiles 39 firsts. Among these is the first time on record where a father implores his juvenile delinquent son to stop idling about and to focus on his studies; the first bicameral congress; the first legal court case; the first instance of tax reform; the first flood; the first library catalogue; etc. etc. Professor Kramer discusses Sumerian use of literary imagery, laments, and elegies. He gives a detailed discussion of the Gilgamesh epic and shows the parts later borrowed by the Babylonians. He draws similarities between the language in tablets detailing ancient Sumer’s Sacred Marriage Rite with the Biblical Song of Songs. And he finds common threads in Inanna’s descent into the nether world and the crucifixion and resurrection of Jesus.

Professor Kramer is careful to credit the work of previous translators and makes it clear he is building on their efforts. He also expresses his indebtedness to his former students and assistants in compiling and translating the clay tablets. He summarizes the contents of each of the tablets before providing a translation. He includes a table showing the origin and development of the squiggly signs representing the cuneiform system of writing; illustrations of some of the clay tablets as well as actual photographs; addenda; a glossary; and maps.

This work is the culmination of years of brilliant, painstaking research. It is very accessible and will appeal to both scholars and a general audience interested in Sumer’s contributions to civilization. Professor Kramer’s tone is engaging; his enthusiasm for the material is contagious. By breathing life into these ancient documents, he reminds us we share many of the same joys and concerns as our ancient ancestors.

Four thousand years ago, a father pleaded with his child to take his schoolwork seriously. What’s not to love about a study that allows his voice and the voices of others to reverberate through the millennia?

Very highly recommended.

Whereabouts

Jhumpa Lahiri

In a series of short vignettes, some only 2 pages long, the first-person narrator in Jhumpa Lahiri’s novel, Whereabouts, unwraps her life as she meanders through various locations in an unnamed Italian city where she lives.

The unnamed narrator is a forty something university professor, living alone. She derives comfort by establishing a routine and rituals for herself, frequenting the same restaurant, coffee shop, bookstore, streets, and piazzas. She has friends and work colleagues, but she never seems to fit in, viewing herself as an outsider. She shies away from intimacy and is estranged even from her mother, her sole surviving relative.

The vignettes cover a period of one year. The city is shown in its seasonal ebb and flow with the narrator enjoying the first burst of spring or shivering under a winter blast. She describes what she sees, hears, and thinks wherever she happens to be, whether she is in bed, in the coffee shop, in the pool, on a train, or under a shade tree. She is an astute observer of people, their comings and goings and their overheard conversations. But she is primarily concerned with analyzing herself. She records her moods and is preoccupied with trying to understand the triggers that generate her feelings of contentment, sadness, depression, alienation, or belonging. At the end of the novel, her decision to leap into unknown territory by accepting a fellowship at an unfamiliar place perhaps indicates her willingness to push back her self-imposed boundaries.

The novel is without a plot. Lahiri originally wrote it in Italian and then translated it herself into English. This once removed process may account for the narrator’s unwillingness or inability to allow for intimacy. Not only does she distance herself from others, but she distances herself from the reader. The impression is of a person talking to herself, not of one inviting others into her life. Her language is restrained; her observations are detached and calculated. Her impenetrable external veneer inhibits investment in her as a person or in her story. As a result, we don’t really get to know her or feel sympathy for her isolationism. What we do get is a glimpse into the self-absorbed mind of an individual who has taken deliberate steps to maintain her sequestered lifestyle while simultaneously trying to locate her place in the world.

Voices of the Lost

Hoda Barakat; translated by Marilyn Booth

Winner of the 2019 International Prize for Arabic Fiction, Voices of the Lost by Hoda Barakat, translated from the Arabic by Marilyn Booth, is in a three-part structure. Part 1, Those Who are Lost, consists of a series of letters to and from unnamed individuals in unspecified countries in the Arab world. Part 2, Those Who are Searching, consists of several monologues by the intended recipients of the letters who never receive the letters but who present events from their perspective. The final section, Those Who are Left Behind, is a monologue by a postal worker sheltering in a bombed-out post office. He has sorted and registered the letters in the hope they will eventually be delivered.

Part 1 is by far the largest part. The letters, addressed to a former lover or family members, are confessional. A woman writes to her former lover. An escaped torturer begs forgiveness from his mother for torturing, maiming, and killing while he was a member of the secret police. A sister writes to her brother explaining why she became a prostitute. The letters never arrive to their intended recipients. They are discarded in hotel rooms, storage lockers, and airports to be picked up by complete strangers who are then prompted to write their own letters in a chain that tangentially links the letters.

The format is interesting and well-executed. The contents of the letters reveal individuals living on the margins of society. They suffer from poverty, childhood trauma, and abuse. Some are illegal immigrants or criminals hiding from authorities in a European country. A few of the letters are very disturbing, describing violence, rape, and domestic abuse in graphic detail. The writers seek understanding and forgiveness for their past actions. Their tone is fatalistic—as if fate dealt them a poor hand and they had no option but to pursue the path they did.

Barakat’s portrayals are sensitive and nuanced. She gives voice to individuals denied voice by mainstream society—the criminals, the prostitutes, the homeless, the refugees, and the desperate. The letter-writers have in common they escaped from their war-ravaged countries. They are alienated, isolated, and bereft of support structures. Some generate sympathy; others generate absolute horror. But all emerge as real individuals suffering from serious, deep-seated wounds.

Although there is a smattering of hope embodied by the nameless postman who continues to sort letters in anticipation of better days, the tone throughout is unabashedly bleak. Its value lies in depicting those relegated en masse to the periphery of society as unique individuals whose powerful and angst-ridden voices deserve a hearing.

Recommended.

Second Place

Rachel Cusk

In the afterword to her most recent novel, Second Place, Rachel Cusk states she was inspired by Mabel Dodge Luhan’s 1932 memoir of the time D. H. Lawrence stayed with her in Taos, New Mexico. Unlike in Luhan’s memoir, the visitor in Cusk’s novel is an artist, not an author.

Second Place is in the form of an extended monologue. The first-person narrator is identified as M. She addresses the monologue to her friend, Jeffers, telling him about the time L, the artist, visited her and her husband in their home on the marshes. The title refers to the second home they constructed as a guest house for visiting artists to work unencumbered by the outside world. It also refers to M’s self-identification as someone who is, at best, second place and subordinate.

M is a conflicted, tortured soul plagued with questions about her identity as a woman, her skills at parenting, her need for recognition, and her role in her marriage. She is not a particularly likeable character. She invites the celebrated artist L to stay in her home because she feels connected to him through his paintings. She wants to see her marshes through his eyes. But above all, she wants him to paint her, as if by seeing her he will, somehow, endow her with self-worth. When L eventually shows up, he recognizes her intensity and need for attention. He reacts by distancing himself from her. M’s frustration grows and eventually comes to a head.

This brief summary might lead one to believe this is a lengthy, boring monologue where very little happens. Nothing could be further from the truth. Although M is not particularly likable, her words are hypnotic and fascinating. While wallowing in self-examination and self-doubt, she philosophizes about the meaning of freedom, the role gender plays in our identity formation, selfhood, power dynamics, positions of privilege, marginalization, the nature of parenting, marriage, the role of art in society and its relationship to life, and the character of the artist. She contrasts her approach to life with that of her steadfast husband, Tony. She shares her feelings toward her daughter and how parenting her now adult child is fraught with tension.

Cusk peppers her sentences with lyrical, breathtaking descriptions, most notably of the landscape. She sustains interest through the potency of her pronouncements and deliberations. Almost every other sentence invites contemplation. This is a compelling work in which words need to be savored, read, and re-read for their piercing insights about life, relationships, and identity.

Highly recommended.

Consorts of the Caliphs: Women and the Court of Baghdad

Ibn al-Sai, translated from the Arabic by Shawkat M. Toorawa

Consorts of the Caliphs: Women and the Court of Baghdad by Ibn al Sai, translated from the Arabic by Shawkat M. Toorawa, provides a fascinating glimpse into the words and deeds of the consorts of caliphs over a five-hundred-year period. The earliest consort is Hammadah Bint Isa, the wife of Caliph Mansur (she died around 780 C.E.); the latest is Shahan, the consort of Caliph al-Muntasir (she died around 1254 C.E).

Ibn al Sai was a literary scholar, historian, and librarian. Born in Baghdad, his dates are 1197-1276 C.E. With unfettered access to official archives of the caliphate, Ibn al Sai wrote history books of which only few fragments have survived. Consorts of the Caliphs is his only work to survive in its entirety.

To compile this work, Ibn al Sai poured over archives and meticulously recorded the chain of oral transmission to authenticate his biographical research concerning each of the 39 women included in his work. There are anecdotes about the women, their personal narratives, poems, and charitable donations. The exorbitant amounts paid to purchase them are recorded, as are the precious gems and copious gold coins they received when called upon to compose a pleasing impromptu poem.

Consorts were referred to as wives, concubines, or slaves. But these were not slaves in the traditional sense. These women were well-respected and loved. Some were wealthy, owning palaces and wielding enormous influence with the caliphs and their sons. They were accomplished poets and singers. Many frequently surpassed their male counterparts in impromptu competitions in poetry and singing, earning the respect of the court. Some endowed law colleges; established lending libraries from their personal collection; funded the building of bridges and the reparation of infrastructure; and gave generously to the needy, especially women and children. Their deaths were mourned; their funeral services were frequently led by caliphs.

These brief biographical sketches shatter stereotypes and challenge the notion that the consorts of the caliphs were one homogenous, sexually exploited group of women. They were intelligent, articulate, resourceful, influential, witty, accomplished, talented, respected, generous, and loved. They had distinct personalities and assumed a variety of roles in the caliphs’ courts. To read about them and to hear them speak in their own voices through their poems going back 1,200 years is nothing short of fascinating. And what makes this work even more astonishing is that nearly 1,000 years ago, an Iraqi male scholar recognized their importance and diligently and methodically conducted and documented research to preserve their legacy for posterity.

This scholarly edition, produced by the editors of the Library of Arabic Literature, includes an introduction explaining methodology, maps, family trees of the caliphs, footnotes, a thorough index, and an extensive bibliography of primary and secondary sources.

Highly recommended as an invaluable resource for shining a light on the consorts of the Abbasid caliphs.

Shadow

Karin Alvtegen; translated by McKinley Burnett

Shadow by Karin Alvtegen, translated from the Swedish by McKinley Burnett, is a gripping, page-turning mystery in which the crime is not revealed until late in the novel. The novel grapples with the following questions: How far are you willing to go to preserve your humanity? How far are you willing to go to protect what is yours? What price are you willing to pay to retain public acclaim? The answers are shocking.

The setting is Stockholm. A four-year-old boy is abandoned in an amusement park. He carries a note: “Take care of this child. Forgive me.” No explanation is given.

After that cryptic opening, the narrative jumps forward three decades. Marianne Folkesson, a social worker, is tasked with sorting the belongings of the recently deceased ninety-two-year-old Gerda Persson. Marianne searches for names of relatives and friends to notify them of the death. She finds books stacked in the freezer by the winner of the Nobel Prize for Literature, Axel Ragnerfeldt. The books have personal hand-written dedications to Gerda, signed by the author. A place to start, she thinks, and begins her enquiries.

Marianne learns Gerda was the long-time housekeeper of the Ragnerfeldt family. She later learns Gerda has named a Kristoffer Sandeblom as her sole beneficiary. But when contacted by Marianne, Kristoffer claims he has never heard of Gerda Persson and has no idea why he is named in her will. Kristoffer conducts his own investigation in an effort to solve a mystery plaguing him all his life. Who is he? Who are his parents? And why did his mother abandon him at an amusement park when he was four years old? The mystery thickens.

Alvtegen’s characters are realistically drawn, distinct, and well-crafted. The surviving members of the Ragnerfeldt family are an unsavory bunch. Axel’s middle-aged son is a philandering alcoholic. His mother is cold-hearted, self-absorbed, and arrogant. His long-suffering wife is miserable in her marriage. Except for Marianne, all the characters are haunted by personal demons which are revealed through their flashbacks and interiority.

An abandoned four-year-old boy, a Nobel Prize winner and his family, the death of their nine-two-year-old housekeeper thirty-five years later. These are seemingly disparate threads. Alvtegen develops each thread along parallel lines, moving back and forth in time, and alternating between threads. Eventually, all the threads converge. The connection is unveiled. A series of lies, deceptions, thefts, and infidelities are revealed, culminating in a horrendous crime buried for thirty-five years.

Alvtegen skillfully builds the suspense, layer upon layer, with the narrative taking many unexpected twists and turns. She delves into back stories and drops clues until the pieces gradually fall into place to reveal the full extent of the horror. She adroitly explores the long-term impact of crimes, of decisions rippling with lasting repercussions, and of childhood trauma. She clothes it in a spell-binding, dark mystery that keeps one guessing until the very end.

Highly recommended.

Swimming Home

Deborah Levy

The opening pages of Swimming Home by Deborah Levy establish an atmosphere of impending disaster. Kitty Finch is behind the steering wheel, driving recklessly while telling her passenger she loves him. Her passenger is nervous and regrets sleeping with her. With that ominous prologue, we go back in time to the beginning of the week.

The setting is a tourist villa in Nice, France. Joe is on holiday with his wife, Isabel, and their fourteen-year-old daughter, Nina. With them are Isabel’s friend, Laura, and her husband, Mitchell. They wake up on a Saturday morning to find a woman floating in the swimming pool. Isabel dives into the pool to retrieve the woman who has, presumably, drowned. But the woman is not dead. Her face surfaces from the water, gasping for breath. Enter Kitty Finch. She emerges from the pool, stark naked.

What follows is a week in which the characters exhibit signs of depression and dysfunction. Joe, a poet, is haunted by a childhood trauma of being smuggled out of Nazi Poland as a five-year-old. His parents and two-year-old sister did not survive the Polish death camp. Isabel is a war correspondent haunted by images of carnage and dismembered bodies. Laura and Mitchell are shop owners who are losing their business. Nina is torn between her parents. And Kitty Finch is a certifiable manic depressive who is off her medications. Invited to stay with the group, she becomes the focus, weaving in and out of conversations while exhibiting frenetic behavior.

The characters clothe their personal demons in a restrained, external veneer. Kitty is the only character who fully exposes her demons and vulnerabilities, both physically and mentally. She is also the only character who spends much of her time prancing around in the nude.

Deborah Levy generates an atmosphere fraught with tension and dripping with a sense of menace. The plot, carefully and methodically constructed, leads to its inexorable and shocking conclusion. Levy moves through the characters revealing the extent of their depression through their interiority. The elusive Kitty flits among them, and despite her unpredictable mannerisms, she, alone, has insight into Joe and Isabel. Kitty has intentionally injected herself into the group for a purpose. It is not until the end of the novel that her purpose is revealed.

This is a compelling read with fleshed out, memorable characters, and an intricate plot which unfolds in precise, spare, and suggestive language. Shortlisted for the 2012 Man Booker Prize, this short book packs a powerful punch.

Lillian Boxfish Takes a Walk

Kathleen Rooney

Lillian Boxfish Takes a Walk by Kathleen Rooney celebrates the life and achievements of Margaret Fishbank, a 1930s highly successful advertising copywriter known for quirky, offbeat, and humorous poems. In the Author’s Note, Rooney describes how delving into Fishbank’s archives inspired her to create her fictional character, Lillian Boxfish.

It is 1984 on New Year’s Eve. Eighty-five-year-old Lillian Boxfish decides to walk along the streets of her beloved Manhattan to have dinner at her favorite restaurant as she has done every New Year’s Eve for decades. Wearing her mink coat, brightly colored lipstick, and with a hat perched on her head, Lillian heads out undeterred by the seamy streets of Manhattan or the possible dangers lurking around each corner.

As she strolls, she reminisces about her life—her arrival in Manhattan, her success at R. H. Macy’s which eventually led to her being the highest paid advertising woman in America, marriage, motherhood, divorce, and subsequent nervous breakdown. Her journey back in time includes some of the historical highlights of twentieth century America, including prohibition, AIDS, and rap music.

Lillian’s eye for detail is commendable. She observes various landmarks along the way, decrying some of the changes in her once familiar environment. She pauses in front of buildings, recalling their significance. Here is the first apartment she shared with her good friend, Helen. This is the restaurant where she has celebrated New Year’s Eve for decades. And here is where she and her husband ate their last meal together while finalizing their divorce.

Lillian does more than just walk and reminisce. She interacts with strangers, engaging them in conversations prompted by her insatiable appetite to learn about people and their experiences. Strangers reciprocate with a solicitous concern for her welfare as an elderly woman traipsing alone at night on the streets of Manhattan. Her eye for detail enables her to home in on their personalities. That same eye for detail knows the nooks and crannies of Manhattan, its past and present, its good and bad. Through Lillian’s eyes, the city comes alive, basking in her love.

Unfolding in the first-person point of view, Lillian’s voice is delightful, funny, energetic, piercingly honest, and sparkling with an acerbic wit tempered with generosity and kindness toward those in need. She is charismatic, charming, entertaining, and can talk herself out of almost any sticky situation. But she is not without flaws, which renders her a more believable character.

What makes Lillian Boxfish such a delight is her appetite for life, and her sheer determination to walk the streets of her beloved city, undaunted and unafraid. Eighty-five-year-old Lillian Boxfish will not let anyone or anything deter her from doing what she loves best. And for that she deserves our praise. And for crafting an endearing portrait of an unforgettable octogenarian, Kathleen Rooney deserves even greater praise.

Highly recommended.

The Arsonists' City

Hala Alyan

The Arsonists’ City by Hala Alyan is a multi-generational family saga about a Lebanese/Syrian family. The patriarch is Idris Nasr, a Lebanese, married to Mazna, a Syrian. Their three children are Ava, Mimi (Marwan), and Naj (Najla). Apart from Naj who lives in Beirut, the family all live in America. Set mostly against the backdrop of a Lebanon emerging from sectarian tensions and civil war, the novel covers a span of about 40 years. The focus is on Mazna and her adult children. Their challenges and personal demons are gradually revealed through temporal shifts and locations alternating between Damascus, America, and Beirut.

The novel opens in 1978 when Zakaria, a young Palestinian refugee, is murdered in Lebanon in an act of sectarian revenge. The novel goes back to 1965 to introduce a young Mazna in Damascus, an aspiring actress with dreams of becoming a Hollywood movie star. Through a mutual friend, she meets Idris in 1978 who becomes totally besotted with her. And through Idris, she meets Zakaria. The three become involved in a love triangle when Mazna and Zakaria fall passionately in love and make plans for a future together. Their love affair comes to a screeching halt with Zakaria’s murder.

Shortly after Zakaria’s death, Idris is accepted in medical school in California. He proposes to Mazna with lures of Hollywood fame. A broken-hearted Mazna accepts his proposal, resigning herself to a marriage with a man she does not love. Forty years later when Idris decides to sell the Beirut ancestral home he inherited from his father, he causes a family uproar. The family converges in Beirut to hold a memorial for Idris’ father and to protest the sale of the home.

In this character-driven novel, Alyan excels in creating authentic, believable, and multi-dimensional characters beset with sibling jealousies and rivalry, marital bickering, simmering resentments, petty squabbles, thwarted aspirations, and ongoing deceptions. The ebb and flow of their relationships as they push away from one another or pull toward one another realistically capture the complexity of family dynamics. Each character is fully fleshed out, unique, flawed, and realistically drawn. The dialogue is natural with its pauses, hesitations, things said, and things left unsaid. Secrets buried for forty years bubble to the surface. Added to the mix are first and second generation struggles with issues of forced migration, displacement, fractured identity, questions of belonging, assimilation, and loss of homeland.

This complex, multi-layered novel grips the reader from the first pages of its riveting prologue depicting a revenge murder to the last pages depicting the resiliency of the Nasr family bond. Alyan’s finely drawn characters, intricate storytelling, masterful pacing, and sparkling prose attest to her skill as an accomplished writer well-deserving of the accolades she has received.

A compelling family saga. Highly recommended.

The Children of Jocasta

Natalie Haynes

The Children of Jocasta by Natalie Haynes is very loosely based on the Theban plays of Sophocles. As Haynes acknowledges in her Afterward, she plays “fast and loose with the myth,” deviating in significant ways from the Oedipus/Antigone myth.

The novel shifts back and forth between two timelines, two perspectives, and two story lines. It opens with the first-person point of view of Ismene as the youngest child of Oedipus and Jocasta. Her mother is dead; her father is exiled; and her two brothers, with the assistance of their uncle Creon, rotate annually for the kingship of Thebes. Ismene’s story is replete with palace intrigue, including attempted assassinations; treason; the deaths of her two brothers; and the clandestine burial of Eteocles, the brother accused of treason. Ismene’s story ends with her heading to Corinth to seek her father.

The second timeline takes place years earlier. It unfolds in the third person-point of view with a focus on Jocasta. She is a fifteen-year-old betrothed to King Laius. Hers is an unhappy marriage that includes the presumed still-birth of her first child. After Laius’ death, Jocasta becomes queen, marries Oedipus, and has four children. Her thread ends with her death. The plague, known as “the reckoning,” plays a prominent role at the end of Jocasta’s reign.

Poetic license grants an author the right to modify a myth as he/she sees fit. But Haynes’ deviations are so significant that the novel bears little resemblance to the original. The Sphinx is transformed to a gang of armed robbers who attack travelers. Ismene, not Antigone as in the original, defies Creon and buries her brother. And Haynes’ decision to assign nicknames to the children is a jarring deviation. Ismene is Isy; Antigone is Ani; Eteocles is Eteo; Polyneices is Polyn; and Haemon is Haem. The incongruity of these nicknames leaps off the page, posing an unnecessary and baffling disruption.

The most problematic issue is with deviation from the very essence of the myth. The crux of the Oedipus myth hinges on incest and the discovery of the incest. Haynes chooses to reduce the incest to a mere rumor with no definitive proof. Oedipus summarily dismisses the rumor, attributing it to a wicked, old woman’s desire for revenge. Jocasta doesn’t dismiss it quite so readily, but she hangs herself without ever confirming its truth one way or the other. By casting doubt on the incest, Haynes has effectively stripped the myth of its reason for being. The unwitting incest forms the essential core of the story. Without it, the story of Oedipus, Jocasta, and their troubled progeny loses its dramatic intensity.

Haynes is to be commended for giving voice to Jocasta and Ismene and centralizing their experience. She succeeds in capturing palace life and the hustle and bustle of the city market in vivid, sensory detail. But the work suffers from lengthy expositions—too much telling and too little showing. The characters are underdeveloped, uninteresting mouthpieces. The dialog is strained and doesn’t flow naturally. The shouting match between Eteocles and Polyneices borders on the farcical. And by diminishing the incestuous relationship between Jocasta and Oedipus to nothing more than rumor-mongering, Haynes has obfuscated the very core of the myth and deprived it of its very essence and considerable power.