Barbara Nadel: The Ottoman Cage
I got the recommendation for this book from Little Diamond; we have a long family tradition of trading books back and forth, my sisters, our children, even my mother; we are all sending books and exchanging suggestions all the time. I know I can count on Little Diamond and Sparkle for particularly good recommendations, and they never disappoint me.
When The Ottoman Cage arrived, I was put off by the cover. “Who’s Likely to Like This?” the cover asked – it seemed like screaming to me – “Fans of Donna Leon and exotic, atmospheric locales”
Remember, I am in a dark time, taxes, turbulence, destabilization. . . I am easily disgruntled when I am vulnerable like this. I don’t want to think I am so predictable. I love reading Donna Leon! So I am predisposed (grumble grumble grumble) NOT to like Barbara Nadel.
I fail miserably. The first five pages I am resisting. By the sixth page, I am ready to stay up all night to read this book (I don’t really, but I did finding myself making more time to read so I could find out what happens next.)
It is like the Donna Leon series in that while the plot is original and interesting, the real focus is on the police inspector, his crew, the relationships with friends and characters, the bureaucracy, and the way systems and institutions function in modern day Turkey.
One particular relationship was of great interest to me, that of Suleyman, who dutifully married his first cousin. They both tried very hard to make it work, but when we meet him, we discover that the marriage has become a painfully dry and desolate place, where each lead their individual lives, with very little of the relationship together.
Another character is detective Cohen, a rare Jew in the police force described as follows:
When one has been known and admired as a prolific womanizer for most of one’s adult life, any change in that situation can come rather hard. Although Cohen had been married since the age of nineteen, he had never let that fact or indeed his rather short stature and dishevelled apearance hold him back from the most ardent pursuit of other women. Jokey charm, of which he possessed copious amounts, had always seen him through. The knowledge that women love a man who can make them laugh had successfully taken him to many bedrooms and had, quite frequently, resulted in his being asked back again. Until this year.
Whether it was because now he was on the ‘wrong’ sied of forty five or just a patch of ill fortune, Cohen didn’t know but the fact was beyond dispute. Women, it seemed, didn’t want him any more. The rbuffs and even in one notable case the cruel sound of mocking laughter were hideously painful for him to bear. Even his long-suffering wife, who had for so many years pleaded with him to leave other women alone and attend to her, had lost interest. He’d tried to find a little comfort in her arms the previous night when he found that he couldn’t sleep, but she, like all the lithe little girls that he still so desired, had just sent him on his way, back to his customary couch, flinging her curses in his unfaithful wake.
It was, Cohen would have been the first to admit, his own fault. Had he bothered to try and be faithful to Estelle he would now, in his middle years, have both a friend and a over with whom he could take comfort as the lines overwhelmed his face and the loose skin around his middle began to sag. His wife was, after all, ageing like himself and, unlike the pretty little tarts he hankered after, unable to point mocking fingers at his inadequacies.
The plot hinges on a dead boy, a beautiful boy, found dead, alone, on a bed in an empty, tasteful but unlived in home. Who is he? Why is he here? Why is he dead?
We meet the gossipy neighbors, we meet the Armenian community, we meet some of the lowest characters you would ever hope to meet, the kind the police deal with every single day. Nothing is simple, one single clue leads slowly, painfully to another. I give credit to Nadel; she relies on good honest police work, chasing down the clues, going through the stacks of old files, interviewing unsavory lowlifes; the things good police really do to solve their cases.
More than the plot, I loved the rich and intricate textures of this mystery novel, I loved the descriptions of the interiors and the interior lives of the characters. Nadel has that in common with the other writers I read serially – Leon, Pattison, Qiu Xiaolon, James Burke and Peter Bowen. It is another rich entry into the genre of the “mystery novel set in exotic, atmospheric locations.”
Definitely worth a read!
Icons Challenge, The Locard Principle 2: The Middle East and Me
The best thing, the very best thing about blogging, for me, is what I learn from my commenters. The old Locard’s Exchange Principle is a constant in life – with every interaction, a part of you rubs off on me, and a part of me rubs off on you. It’s why we’re careful about the people, books, movies, blogs and ideas we spend time with. . . we either feel better for hanging around them, or slightly uncomfortable. Sometimes, hugely uncomfortable. The internet is a microcosm, good and evil all mixed in together and we make our choices.
Fragonard: The Reader
Above: that is me. That’s pretty much who I am. I am quiet, I am a reader. I still get input, from newspapers, books, e-mails, the internet, friends, groups, etc.
What I love about blogging is that I throw something out, and you throw something back. Many many times, what I get back is unexpected, and forces me to re-examine my assumptions. Many times, I have to force myself to stop. Not to respond. I have to force myself to let the new information, new point-of-view sink in, percolate, settle. Minds don’t change in an instant, but . . . they do change. New information brings new, often surprising, perspectives. When I find myself getting angry, I have to step back and ask myself “what is going on here? What are you reacting to?” It helps me to know myself better, and it helps me to understand whatever-little-corner-of-the-world-I-am-living-in better, too.
There are about six different blog entries radiating out like a spider’s web from the thoughts I am now thinking, fed by your input and comments, and behind the scenes e-mails back and forth with new thoughts.
So here is my challenge for today. I’ve shown you one of my life icons, this Fragonard paining, The Reader.
Your mission, your challenge – identify / find a piece of art that shows us who you are. Post it on your blog and link here with a comment, or send it to me, and I will publish it.
(No graphic violence or pornography; I won’t publish it and I will break the link if you publish it on your blog and link to me.)
Wild Blue Yonder
Today was the Kuwait show of military might. No sandstorm, thanks be to God. Somehow, I had thought yesterday was Wednesday and thought how sad it was it would have had to be cancelled. When I woke up today and realized it was Wednesday, I could hardly wait.
Just the sound of the roaring jets gives me a grin. I once lived near a huge airbase, and we lived with the sound day and night. It never bothered me. I always knew these were men and women who sacrificed their lives to serve their country in a profession that looks a lot more glamorous than it is. Flying can be exciting, but it can also be very tedious. You are away from your family for long hours. It gets old. They persevere.
The young men and women chosen to fly these fighter planes have to have superior physical condition and reflexes. Think about you and the car your daddy gave you – it may be expensive, but it didn’t cost billions. These planes do. It’s an amazing responsibility, a privilege and an honor to be selected.
Bu Yousef, tell your friend he was supposed to waggle his wings when he flew by so I would know which one he was! 😉
Macaholic, it was a little hazy, but the attack helicopters are for you. 🙂
The Most Dangerous Job in Kuwait
From today’s Al Watan:
KUWAIT: The operations room received a call informing them that an Asian domestic maid tried to commit suicide by stabbing herself while at her sponsor”s house in the Salmiya area. Police officers and medical teams rushed to the scene where paramedics administered emergency medical aid and rushed her to Mubarak Hospital, where she was admitted to the intensive care unit. However, on interrogating her, she alleged that she did not attempt suicide but that she had been stabbed. Investigations are underway to ascertain the authenticity of the statement.
OK. Stop and think about it. How do you stab yourself? I can imagine, if I were wanting to commit suicide, a hundred ways easier than trying to stab oneself. Don’t you think the police would have been suspicious from the very beginning?
Every time I read about another domestic committing suicide, I wonder. I have heard many many things.
I wonder how many women commit suicide by “jumping” off the balcony? Those who survive often say they were thrown, or pushed, by “the madam.”
One girl told me that every maid brought into the household where she works immediately has to have her hair cut very short (and unflattering) and to wear voluminous and ugly uniforms, because “the madam” is afraid her husband and sons will be attracted to the maids.
I wonder how many slaps, how much screaming, how many humiliations, how many approaches or attacks from male members of the household one endures before absconding?
Think about it. You’re from a really really poor country, and you leave behind family, even your own children, for the hope of earning enough money so that the children can go to school, and have a better life, so that maybe you can build your own little bungalow one day, not fancy, just a roof over your head. People who come here to earn a living have a lot of incentive to make it work. They will endure a great deal before seeking a way out.
I have so many friends who treat their household help like members of the family, teaching them new skills, helping them earn extra money, giving them food and clothing. I believe they are in the majority, the kind employers.
But so many stories of domestics being abused! Even if it is a mere, say 5%, what options does the domestic have? The brave ones, the self-confident ones, might go to the police, only to have her employers state that she stole something, and she finds herself under arrest, or quickly deported. Many cannot even leave the house, and have no telephone with which to call a friend in an emergency situation.
Will the new labor law have anything to say about protecting these very vulnerable family helpers from a dangerous or abusive employer? What effect does it have on children to see their parents treating employees like mere possessions? How does it impact our souls and our entrance into paradise when we don’t (as the Quran instructs) pay our employees their promised salary at the agreed upon time?
What will happen to this poor woman, stabbed, in a strange hospital, whose employers claim she stabbed herself?
Masks: Quote from AWAD
A THOUGHT FOR TODAY:
Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth. -Oscar Wilde, writer (1854-1900)
Interesting thought, especially to those of us who are hiding behind a mask of anonymity. What do you think? Are we more free to tell the truth when we blog anonymously? Do we tell the truth? Or does anonymity encourage us to stretch the truth? embellish the truth? strain the truth?
Hmmmmmmm. What do you think?
WooHOO Mathai, Newest Entrant in The Great Kuwait National Holiday Challenge
Wow. Mathai, you captured the magic of the holiday lights, and the sheer joy of being outside in this wonderful weather of Kuwait-in-“winter”.
Gorgeous!
“I’m Melting! I’m Melting!”
At our church this weekend, our priest was making a point, using water, and he sprinkled various members of the congregation, to a series of “eeeeekks!”
I was reminded of several years ago – we had bought a new house, and our church has a special ceremony of blessing for a residence. As the priest carefully points out, he/she is not actually blessing the house, but blessing the inhabitants – nonetheless, every room has a special prayer, and the priest sprinkles a little holy water in each room.
more animals
As he sprinkled the water in one room, some hit my youngest sister, Sparkle. I watched her struggle not to do it, but she couldn’t resist.
“Ohhhh, I’m melting, I’m melting!” she cried out, like the Wicked Witch of the West in The Wizard of Oz.
Thank God, the priest was a good friend. He paused, looked at me and said “she is YOUR sister?” I nodded. He sighed, before continuing, and said “why am I not surprised?”
Mubarakiyya Glimpses and Public Art
Every time I go to Mubarakiyya, I see something I haven’t seen before. We found some scenes in the meat market – see if you can find them.
Recycle in Kuwait
This just made my heart flutter. Eshda3wa had mentioned I needed to visit Al Ahmadi to see the lights, and she was right. I had so much fun; all of Kuwait should decorate the way Ahmadi decorates – lights everywhere!
But here is what made my heart truly flutter:
Recycle Bins! In Kuwait!
“When they first brought them,” my friend told me, “I thought ‘oh yeah, Kuwait, well maybe it will work for a week or two’ and so we gathered up EVERYTHING in the house and loaded the bins so we could get rid of them, but actually, they have been picking up regularly, right on schedule.”
WOW.
I have heard there is a new recycle company that will pick up for free. Who are they? How do we contact them?
Update June 2011 – two new options listed in the comments section, companies providing recycle services in Kuwait. 🙂
Dewey: The Small-Town Library Cat Who Touched the World
I’ll admit it, I was looking for a quick read, and after resisting this book for months, I picked it up. As much as I love cats, I am not that much into cute, nor am I particularly sentimental, and I don’t like having my emotions manipulated. Just one look at the adorable cat on the cover told me it was going to be one of those slick, fairly superficial feel-good kind of books.
See what I mean? Just look at that cover. Look how that cat just looks right into your eyes. This book is going to suck you in.
This book was a surprise. Yes, it was touching. Yes, it was about a tiny little kitten who almost died, stuffed in a below freezing book-return box in an northern Iowa country library in the middle of one of the coldest nights of the year, and yes, he ends up living in the library for almost 20 years and brightening the life of the people who come into the library. Yes, Dewey is adorable, and funny, and loveable. Yes, the book is an easy read.
It is also, surprisingly, an uncomfortable read. It is not overly sentimentalized. It is also the story of a woman, Vicky Myron, who grew up on one of the northern Iowa farms, and she tells us about the quality of a life that is no longer available in America, how the safe, secure, intertwined family life of rural Iowa has greatly disappeared. The hard times we are working our way through in 2009 is an echo of hard times suffered in rural America, as small farms are gobbled up by the more efficient super-farms, owned by conglomerates, not by families.
She tells us about her physical struggles with a disastrous childbirth, and its two year aftermath, and she tells us about how her marriage to a lovable alcoholic died, almost without her being aware it was dying. She doesn’t spare herself, as she discusses her problems, as a single mother, on welfare, trying to get a college education and raising her daughter, who couldn’t wait to move away from her. She talks about her challenges remodeling an old cement reading library into a modern, airy information resources center serving the town and the surrounding community, at the same time she is working on her Masters in Library Science. She describes her challenges dealing with the town bureaucracy. It is not always comfortable, or feel-good reading. It takes the book out of the superficial, and gives you something to think about.
Intertwined in all of this is Dewey Readmore Books, the cat who comes to live in the Spencer, Iowa, library, and who is eventually featured on TV shows around the world. He responds to requests that he pose, that he perform, he seems to know who needs a little love and is quick to give it – he is a great main character. For me, some of it was also uncomfortable, kind of a stretch – like that the cat would be in the window waving to her every morning when she came to work. Well . . . maybe . . . I’ve almost always had cats in my life, and few have every shown such consistent loyalty. Cats are . . . well, cats. It’s the way God made them. 😉
What I love is that this book is about libraries, and the amazing (mostly) women who run them. These librarians have had a huge influence on my life, and the life of AdventureMan, challenging us to explore outside our boundaries and supporting our aspirations, recommending new ideas and new ways of serving their communities. Librarians are part of the backbone of America.
I read this book in just a few hours. It just isn’t that complicated or challenging; it is an easy read. It has been a #1 New York Times bestseller, and copies of the book are still selling strongly. It currently ranks #105 in all time book sales on Amazon.com – can you imagine how many books that must be? The book is sweet, but #1? I can only imagine so many people are buying and reading it because it looks like 1) a Feel-Good book and 2) an easy read.
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