Third Time’s The Charm
As has been widely reported, this year’s Orange Prize was awarded to Zadie Smith for her novel On Beauty. The chair of the judges praised the book for its “extraordinary characterisation” and “seemingly effortless plotting.”
As has been widely reported, this year’s Orange Prize was awarded to Zadie Smith for her novel On Beauty. The chair of the judges praised the book for its “extraordinary characterisation” and “seemingly effortless plotting.”
Rabih Alameddine’s I, the Divine has a very innovative narrative style. Each chapter lays claim to a new beginning and retraces the lives of the vibrant narrator, Sarah Nour el-Din, as she crosses transnational borders and psychological landscapes. We experience the Lebanese civil war as Sarah experienced it–in fragments and in small doses. I, the Divine is funny, painful, and solid. Alameddine writes very convincingly of young womanhood, sexual awakening, and the devastating effects of war on a culture. These days, we don’t need any more reminder about war’s injuries, but we do need a writer who may offer ways of redeeming ourselves in the face of loss and alienation.
The June 12th issue of the New Yorker has seven writers reflecting on ‘life during wartime.’ There’s Neil Sheehan on Vietnam, 1966; Robert Stone on Antarctica, 1958; Roger Angell on New York, 1967; Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie on Sierra Leone, 1997; Tony D’Souza on Ivory Coast, 2000; Aleksandar Hemon on Yugoslavia, 1991; and Wendell Steavenson on Iraq 2004.
My friends A. and R. both wrote me, separately, to rave about Chilean author Roberto Bolaño’s Last Evenings on Earth, a collection of short stories translated by Chris Andrews. Writing for the San Francisco Chronicle, Daniel Alarcón shares their enthusiasm:
If the earlier pieces are less convincing, it is only in relation to the sheer brilliance of the collection’s second half. Bolaño’s stories meander, following no logic except that which exile imposes: a yearning that cannot be articulated, only acted out, often with desultory gloom. His protagonists wander through the streets of Europe’s great cities and are unmoved. They are constantly arriving, and leaving just as suddenly, and the whole of the world is reduced to a single detail: These places are not home. Every conversation is vaguely recalled, every detail slightly blurred. Plots are arranged with startling asymmetry. Life, in other words, bumbles along, love appears and dissolves, men and women make half-hearted attempts to escape their lives. Naturally, the successes are fleeting and the failures sublimely tragic.
You can read it all here.
In the past, novelist Ahdaf Soueif has spoken forcefully against the repression of pro-democracy activists by Hosni Mubarak’s police. But now things have taken on a somewhat more personal note. In a letter to the New York Review of Books, she asks readers to support a petition demanding the immediate release of all those who have been put in prison over the last few weeks, including prominent Egyptian blogger Alaa (of Manal & Alaa fame) who is her nephew. Alaa has just been given another 15 days in jail, which prosecutors can renew indefinitely, and without charge.
Soueif is also interviewed (briefly) by Hugh Miles in the Telegraph about the protests and detentions.
“Despite her passion for reform in Egypt, Soueif maintains that writing is still her first priority. She said: “I don’t expect or want to be more involved with politics. I am too involved already. I spend half the day trying to be an advocate and half the day trying to write. It would be marvellous if things were sorted out and I would not be needed any more.”
I think of Soueif not just as a novelist but also as a public intellectual, and in a way I’m not sure if she’ll ever be in a position where she’s “not needed.” She is needed.
The World Cup is in a mere four days, and neither of the two main Moroccan channels (RTM and 2M) has secured transmission rights for the event. Le Monde reports that the Saudi channel ART is asking for 110 million dirhams for the rights to the event, a fee which Moroccan stations cannot afford. As everyone knows: It is not wise to come between Moroccans and their football.