Writing: 5/5 Characters: 5/5 Plot: 4.5/5
This is a beautifully written novel composed of interlinking stories about characters in a Palestinian-American community in Baltimore. Most are members of three families: the Baladis, Salamehs, and Ammars. The stories move linearly forward in time, while bouncing between different individuals and their points of view. This means that the narrative slowly moves from first generation immigrants to younger family members born in the U.S. Influences from their ethnic heritage and the American culture surrounding them drift downward through the generations, melding uniquely in each individual making for nuanced, discrete characters. This creates a kind of narrative arc through the stories so that it did feel novelistic despite the clear boundaries of the stories.
I enjoyed the diversity of the characters — more akin to the everyday “diversity” of different human beings than to the diversity of skin color or ethnicity since (almost) all the characters were Christian Palestinian-Americans. Some wealthier, some poorer, some professionals, some working class, from real estate moguls to housekeepers. Many stories dealt with some aspect of being a woman within this culture, ranging from pregnancies to divorce to education — basically different ways that women might make decisions that did not align as well with family expectations as some families might expect. However, family reactions were not all the same — sometimes the father would be unhappy (to various extents), sometimes the mother (or the aunt, siblings, etc). Sometimes things escalated badly, and in others acceptance and adaptation was the name of the game. Real people — all in the same “place,” all with different stories. Topics run the gamut include generation conflicts, teenage afflictions, racism (in multiple directions), domestic abuse, cultural misrepresentation, etc. From minor issues to major. Some sweet and uplifting, and some not, but all moving towards understanding and growth.
Beautifully written, wonderful characters, little or no political statements — see some quotes below.
Quotes:
“The day he dies, Baba looks skinny and surprised. When he sucks in the last breath, his mouth opens in an O, like America has shocked him at last, and freezes there. It’s like he finally understood he was never meant to win here.”
“Americans like to talk about everything, I know. They like to share their feelings, like purging old clothing, or dumping clutter. But when you’re like us, you purge nothing. You recycle or repurpose every damn thing. Nothing is clutter.”
“Arabs are ridiculous; even if they live a dream life, they want to star in some tragedy. If there is no tragedy, they imagine one.”
”Sometimes I think that is why I like science. Science doesn’t mind when you make a mistake. Instead, science gets kind of excited.”
“No, with the baby, with Baba fading, with ever-present work stress, now is a time to lie in the weak surface of water, to trust that its fragility could nevertheless keep her afloat. It could even, despite its transparency, carry her great distances.”
“Marcus realized then that, while some people talked about growing up poor, his parents had been a whole different level of poor. Barefoot poor. Starving poor. Babies dying from diarrhea poor, like Mama’s little sister, Amal, who had died before she was a year old. Sleep on rooftops in the summer poor. Go to mass at two different times so your siblings can share the good shoes poor. Boil weeds to make tea poor.”
“Americans like to talk about everything, I know. They like to share their feelings, like purging old clothing, or dumping clutter. But when you’re like us, you purge nothing. You recycle or repurpose every damn thing. Nothing is clutter.”
“Arabs are ridiculous; even if they live a dream life, they want to star in some tragedy. If there is no tragedy, they imagine one.”
”Sometimes I think that is why I like science. Science doesn’t mind when you make a mistake. Instead, science gets kind of excited.”
“No, with the baby, with Baba fading, with ever-present work stress, now is a time to lie in the weak surface of water, to trust that its fragility could nevertheless keep her afloat. It could even, despite its transparency, carry her great distances.”
“Marcus realized then that, while some people talked about growing up poor, his parents had been a whole different level of poor. Barefoot poor. Starving poor. Babies dying from diarrhea poor, like Mama’s little sister, Amal, who had died before she was a year old. Sleep on rooftops in the summer poor. Go to mass at two different times so your siblings can share the good shoes poor. Boil weeds to make tea poor.”
Books to look forward to ... 