In the Labyrinth

New Editions of Except the Queen in Italy and Turkey

Well...this is nice! I just learned earlier this week when a check arrived that Jane and I had sold our novel Except the Queen in Turkey. I knew the Italian deal was in the works, so it was awesome finding this cover of the Italian edition on the internet with its new title that translates as "Diary of the Fairies," -- which is a wee bit odd...but ok, it's sure pretty!

Rabih Alameddine: The Hakawati

All families tell their histories in stories that circulate from one generation to the next. We gather together at events, such as births, marriages, deaths and reaffirm ourselves as a family by telling the family stories: "this is how I met your mother," "this is how you got your name," "this is how we survived the war," "this is what happened when your grandfather went on the journey of his life." And even though we may hear those stories over and over in our lives (and many of us have favorite relatives who tell them) we never get tired of recalling these tales. They ground us in a shared history and celebrate our unique identity as a family.

I have just finished reading Lebanese author Rabih Alameddine's brilliant and sumptuous novel, The Hakawati (roughly translated as "story teller") and am simply in awe of its genius and scope. Like all great epics (and at over 500 pages, this is a huge epic tale) it hangs on the arc of a simple narrative: Osama al-Kharrat is returning home to Beirut after years of living in America to attend his dying father. The immediate and extended family have gathered together to console Farid al-Kharrat in the hospital (including a funny and poignant scene when the matriarch aunt insists on holding the final feast of Ramadan with the entire family inside Farid's intensive care room). It is an emotionally complicated and wrenching time and the family stories begin to tumble out. Now, something of an outsider due to living in the United States, Osama serves as a compassionate narrator compiling the family tales of four generations.

And oh what stories they are, packed with all the ingredients a robust and determined family deserves. There are the secret histories, of children born from illicit affairs, the love at first site of star-crossed lovers who persevere, the rags to riches tales, the sacrifices, humiliations, and triumphs of a family mythically born to endure. There is as much humor as there is tragedy, as much strength in the men and women as there are weaknesses. Their stories also read as a political and social description of a troubled geographical area -- where nation-state histories have torn apart communities, threatening families and friendships. Within the mingled generations of Osama's family are the turbulent histories of Druze, Maronites, Kurds, Armenians, Turks, and Jews.

But wait, there's more. Alameddine layers the already powerful story of a Lebanese family with mythic and epic tales from the Arabian Nights, the Old Testament, the Koran, Homer, Shakespeare, and many other epic traditions of the region. The story of a family expands to include an elaborate cultural tapestry of the middle east as well. Here is the tale of Baybars, the first Slave King of the Mamlukes, of Fatima, the courageous slave girl who survives a terrifying encounter with Afreet-Jehanam, Demon of the Underworld, and becomes his paramour, and of Othman, a thief married to Layla, formerly a "luscious dove" prostitute, whose marriage of wit, cunning, and intelligence propels them from the streets to the ranks of royalty. Ancient tales of wise peasants and foolish kings, faithful love and cruel betrayals are blended seamlessly with the tales of Osama's family.

Alameddine's writing exceeds the demands of delivering such an extravagant masterpiece of family and fable. It is rich and sensual, sharply comic and satiric, and deeply moving. I lost a few days, completely engrossed in a story that moved with the daring speed of a magic carpet. The novel opens with a one word request: "Listen," and it is repeated over and over as characters, both modern and ancient insist on sharing their stories. And listen we must, enchanted and captivated by a most extraordinary story teller.

Hans Christian Andersen's Whimisical Paper Cuts

As it turns out, Hans Christian Andersen produced really wonderful, whimsical, and beautiful papercuts when he told stories. He also produced lovely Christmas ornaments out of colored paper. I always think of his melancholy fairy tales -- and was surprised by the humor and quirkiness of these delicate pieces. Happily, you can see a lot more of them t the Digital Library of the Odense City Museum. 

The images above are two Christmas ornaments while the images below are examples of his fairy tale scenes and complex folded paper cuts.

 

A Return to How They Drank In The 40s

I rejoice at finding wonderful items on the internet, but I am also pleased in being found. I recently received a terrific email from a middle school English teacher whose sixth grade class was tackling poetry with some difficulty at the start. This is what she wrote to me:

After teaching all kinds of dry literary terms to kids who are often intimidated by the misconception that all poetry is cryptic and impenetrable by nature, I presented them with Sandra Cisneros' "My Wicked, Wicked Ways". They were awakened. They were transported.  To keep them there, suspended in a state of fascination and of vulnerability, I challenged them to bring in a picture to which they are emotionally connected in some way. Some did, and some, as would be expected, forgot or ignored my request. I warned them, that in that event, I will pick a picture for them and that they would have to write as if my pick were personal to them. I googled family pictures and decided on yours. (see the original post: How They Drank in the 40s)

We wrote. I wrote one too, alongside them. We read them, we clapped, we nodded our heads, we listened. The purpose of this email is to let you know that the act of putting that picture out there changed some of us. It helped us look deeper. It forced us to connect. It made us listen to each other and see things the way we wouldtn've on our own, perhaps.

Feeling very honored (as would my grandmother in the photo have been) I asked the teacher if she would share some of the poems with me. Here's one of the poems written by a sixth grader:

They’d meet

For the greatest feast

Important women

Come to drink

Some smoke

Some don’t

They are dressed up

Like Christmas trees

Laughing and talking

Eating and drinking.

Their laughs are noisy

From a concert

As they talk like the dolphins

Drinking the wine

From their cups

Eating roasted vegetables

They leave

And have a good night.

Awesomeness! I want to thank all the students and their teacher for sharing their work with me. It has really made my day.