You gotta like a guy who gets his first book published when he’s 80 years old. Heck, just living to the ripe old age of 80 is impressive enough, but getting your debut work of fiction published at an age when many people are entering an assisted living facility is an amazing feat.
Last week, after dropping off a few books at the public library I took a lazy waltz along the shelves in hopes something might catch my eye. Seeing the non-Western name Jamil Ahmad on the spine of a book I was quickly intrigued. After inspecting it, things started to look familiar. Then I remembered author Jamil Ahmad and his book The Wandering Falcon being featured on NPR a few years back. Well heck, good enough for NPR, good enough for me. So I grabbed it.
Even though The Wandering Falcon isn’t a novel but a collection of short stories, with all the stories sharing a common character. Tor Baz, the orphaned love child of a renegade couple shows up in all nine stories, even if in passing. As the stories shift forward and backward in time, we see Tor Baz young and old, as well as from varying perspectives.
What I really liked about The Wandering Falcon was Ahmad’s ability to capture the people and environment of the rough and tumble borderlands between Afghanistan and Pakistan. Seeing this region through Ahmad eyes, it’s a world perhaps best described as harsh and unforgiving, but at the same time rich and colorful. As I read these stories, I found the writing reminiscent of mid-century American writer Paul Bowles and his descriptions of North Africa.
After reading The Wandering Falcon, I’d like to read more works of fiction set in Afghanistan and Pakistan. And why not? The two nations are always in the news and will probably continue to be as Afghanistan slides towards anarchy, Pakistan remains unsettled and the overall region of South Asia rises in significance as the Indian Ocean takes center stage among world policy makers. Therefore, expect to see more books like The Wandering Falcon featured on my blog.
If you’re like me, there’s nothing like finally reading a book that for years you’ve been wanting to read. And if you’re like me, the only thing better than that is when you finally do read it, it’s even better than you had hoped. That, my friends is how I felt when I finally got around to reading Jack Weatherford’s Genghis Khan and the Making of the Modern World.
I’ve been wanting to read Weatherford’s book for over decade, ever since it was published back in 2004. Sadly, I never got around to doing so, even after I received a copy as a Christmas present several years ago. Even with this prized book in my possession I’m embarrassed to say it just sat on my desk gathering dust. But with 2015 shaping up to be the year I tackle the many ignored and unread books of my personal library perhaps it’s no surprise I finally picked up Weatherford’s book and read it.
As the book’s title hints, this isn’t just the story of Genghis Khan. Yes, his incredible rise from impoverished Mongol horseman to emperor of Eurasia is all here. But Genghis Khan and the Making of the Modern World is much more than that. If any leader could be called an enlightened despot than Weatherford’s Genghis Khan would be him. Under his rule religious toleration abounded, ethnic communities and local customs were respected and international trade flourished. His empire was also the first to promote such modern concepts like universal literacy, paper money and diplomatic immunity for ambassadors and envoys. With an empire stretching two continents and served by a meritocracy-based civil service, state-run postal service and rule of law (not to mention an aversion to torture as a tool for justice and means of state control) Genghis Khan’s kingdom was not only impressive but by today’s standards much a head of its time.
Some have criticized Weatherford for painting too rosy of picture of Genghis and his empire. Others have questioned his book’s historical accuracy. Frankly, I don’t care. It’s well-written and fun to read. Much like Thomas Cahill did with his books How the Irish Saved Civilization and Sailing the Wine-Dark Sea:Why the Greeks Matter Weatherford has the ability to make history enjoyable and fascinating. Therefore, I highly recommend Genghis Khan and the Making of the Modern World.
From time to time we hear of memoirs and other nonfiction books that were supposedly true, but after closer scrutiny turned out to be mere fabrications. While those literary incidents occasionally make headlines, we seldom hear about works of fiction that are closely based on real events. Recently, I discovered one of these relatively rare books during one of my library visits when I stumbled across a copy of Fabio Geda’s In the Sea There are Crocodiles. Geda’s slim but satisfying book is a novelized account of young Enaiatollah Akbar’s five-year journey from Afghanistan to Italy.
The story begins in pre-9/11 Afghanistan when Akbar and his mother are forced to flee their impoverished village by the ruling Taliban. Members of the persecuted Hazara ethnic group, Akbar’s mother eventually realizes that life under the murderous Taliban is no longer an option and the two of them flee to Pakistan. After his mother leaves him, he risks his life traveling across Southwest Asia and the Balkans until finding sanctuary in Italy. Along the way he encounters human traffickers, desperate migrants, corrupt officials and more hardship and death than any boy should ever experience.
The more I thought about it, the more I felt that Geda’s book embodies a number of paradoxes. Billed as a novel, it’s based on the true life account of Akbar’s harrowing journey across five countries and two continents. (Interspersed throughout In the Sea There are Crocodiles are fragments of interviews between Akbar and Geda.) Told in the third person, nevertheless the world is seen through the eyes of the novel’s tween protagonist. While some have labeled the novel a piece of young adult literature, I found it more than suitable for a grown up audience. Lastly, in spite of the misery, injustice and horror Akbar suffered on his long journey, he never seems to lose his youthful optimism and trust in humanity. It is for primarily for these reasons that I have no problem recommending this surprisingly good book.
I was introduced to the fiction of Atiq Rahimi over three years ago. One evening after work while working my way through the assorted novels and anthologies of the international authors shelf at my public library I found a copy of his 2010 novel The Patience Stone. Set in pre-Taliban Afghanistan during that country’s civil war, Rahimi’s short novel revolves around an Afghan woman caring for her comatose husband as fighting rages around them. As the evening wears on, her one-sided conversation with him becomes more like a fevered confession as she reveals her darkest secrets. Looking back, I remember enjoying The Patience Stone. I was impressed with Rahimi’s ability to tell such a story laconically, but with intensity. And while that story might have seemed simple in the beginning, as that story unfolded layers of complexity bubbled to the surface.
Earlier this week I stopped by the library after work and took a swing through the fiction section in hopes of finding a few books for the European Reading Challenge. After seeing a book sitting on a shelf entitled A Thousand Rooms of Dream and Fear how could I not investigate? Once I learned it was written by Atiq Rahimi, the author of The Patience Stone I could not resist.
Published in 2011, just like Rahimi’s earlier novel The Patience Stone, A Thousand Rooms of Dream and Fear also takes place in Afghanistan. This time, it’s 1979, not long after pro-Soviet elements have seized power in a coup and are now terrorizing the citizens of Kabul. After savagely beaten by soldiers for violating curfew, a young college student named Farhad has been taken in by a mysterious women and slowly nursed back to health. His recovery takes him through alternating states of lucidity and feverish hallucination. Confined to a stranger’s house and dwelling in this twilight zone bordering the real and the imagined, Farhad fears he’s died and now awaiting God’s judgment at the hands of his avenging angels.
I wasn’t disappointed with A Thousand Rooms of Dream and Fear. But I didn’t like it as much as The Patience Stone, even though it possesses some of the same qualities of and similarities to Rahimi’s earlier novel. What’s really cool is it’s inspired me to read more books set in or about Afghanistan. So don’t be surprised when you see more of these kind of books featured on this blog.